Dear McDonald’s…

Fuck you. I had a panic attack after reading about your new “McRibster,” and am currently in the waiting room of my therapist’s office, praying that she can cancel her session with whatever soap opera star is sitting here next to me so that I can come in and release my emotions for 50 minutes.

If you think for one second that your stupid new sandwich is chic because it’s only being sold in Austria, think again. Austria hasn’t been chic since The Sound of Music. In fact, thanks to you McDonalds, I will only be skiing in Switzerland from here on out. I’m sure many others will join me in this initiative, and all the Austrians will start hating you for attracting fat/no tourists to their country.

Is creating a sandwich composed of a deep fried, pork-based substance surrounded by bacon, pepperjack cheese, sweet honey mustard and chili sauce supposed to be some kind of sick joke? If so, guess who’s not laughing: me. When I read the ingredients, my head was immediately filled with images of my dad eating one on a business trip and contracting Type II Diabetes on the spot, having a heart attack, then dying alone. Do you really want his blood on your hands?

Think about what you’ve done here. I have to go to therapy now.


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