The McRib Experiment: McRansom!

Okay, no more Mr. McNice Guy.

First, I tried to get Theresa to eat a McRib by offering her ten bucks.  She turned it down without a second's hesitation.  Undeterred, I moved on to Plan B, which involved a certificate for a half-hour massage and some really, really fine print.  The plan actually worked like a charm, as she accepted the offered massage.  However, displaying a shameful disregard of the established contract, Theresa refused to honor the microscopic "Neener-Neener-Now-You-Gotta-Eat-a-McRib" clause.

So, left with no other choice, I had her dog Newton kidnapped.

Theresa was sitting in the living room, probably thinking about what a great deal she could get on Halloween decorations for next year.  She's kind of obsessive like that.  I heard her son Doug and his girlfriend Obie come in through the front door.  I intercepted them before they could get to the living room.

"I need one of you guys to take Newton for a drive.  Just fifteen minutes or so," I said.

They knew what I was up to, so Obie volunteered.  She took Newt out to her car while Doug went upstairs and I placed a phone call to a third accomplice, my brother Bobby.

"Dude, I need your help with something," I said.  I explained my McQuest, and gave him his instructions.  This is the brother who, when he was seven, rigged a booby trap for our babysitter and then hit her in the face with a bucket of water.  He was absolutely the right guy for this assignment.

I went back upstairs and sat on the couch, waiting.  A couple minutes later, Theresa's cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Do you know where your dog is?"

"Excuse me?"

"Doooo . . . yoooooo . . . knowwwww . . . where your dog is?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Ronald McDonald.  Have you seen your dog lately?"

Theresa covered the phone and asked me and Doug, "Have you guys seen Newton?"

"He's not here?"  We pretended to look for the dog, calling his name over and over, trying not to chuckle.  Of course, he didn't respond.  He was on a pleasant drive with Obie.  Meanwhile, Theresa's panic level was rising.

"Do you have my dog? . . . WHO IS THIS!  YOU'RE NOT RONALD MCDONALD!"  Finally, she hung up on him, and helped us look for Newton.

That's when I texted her this picture:

The text was clearly sent by "CHRIS CELL".  Why this didn't clue her in to the prank, I have no idea.

"Oh my God!  Someone just texted me a picture of Newton!  He's blindfolded!  Who took this picture?!"

She ran out into the back yard, frantically calling out, "NEWTON!  NEWTON!" while Doug and I watched from the back deck.

"Think we should tell her?" he asked.

"Not just yet.  Let her sweat it out just a little longer."

She came back inside.  "He's not out here!  The gate's still locked so he couldn't have gotten out, where the hell is he?"  She went to look downstairs.

When she was out of earshot, Doug looked at me and said, "You know she's gonna be pissed, right?"

"I told her she should've just eaten the McRib when I offered her ten bucks.  This is her own fault."

"Yeah, I'm sure she's gonna see it like that."

"Okay, okay, I'll let her in on it."  I took out my phone and texted her this:

From downstairs, I heard her phone beep, followed by an ominous silence.

And then the yelling started.

"YOU KIDNAPPED NEWTON TO GET ME TO EAT A FUCKING MCRIB?!  WHERE THE HELL IS HE?!"  She stormed back upstairs and gave me a look that would cause ravenous wolves to flee in terror and woodchucks to burst into flame.

"If I tell you, will you eat one?"  I asked.

"No!"

"Fine, then I don't know where he is.  He probably ran away and got hit by a truck."

"You're a jerk.  Where is he?"

"Eat the McRib?"

"Yeah, okay, fine, where's my dog?"

Doug called Obie who returned moments later with Newton who, as usual, hadn't the foggiest clue what was going on.

Theresa eventually calmed down, and she started putting it all together.  "Who was it that called me?" she asked.

"That was Bobby."

She grabbed her phone, and called his number.  Suffice it to say, someone's going to be short one Christmas present this year.

Victorious, I drove to McDonald's to get a McRib.  As a minor concession, I agreed to let Theresa special order it, no pickles or onions.  By the time I got home, though, she had reconsidered the whole thing.

"Forget it, I'm not eating one."

A rather boisterous argument ensued, Doug and I taking the "you gotta eat one, you promised" point of view, Theresa adamantly in the "oh no I don't, either" camp.  Obie was keeping out of it, as she was already in enough trouble with Theresa and our other dog Munson, who was pissed off that she didn't take him for a ride in the car.

"Okay, okay," Theresa finally agreed.  "I'll take ONE bite, and then you have to eat some seaweed."

"That wasn't part of the deal," I said.  Seaweed is friggin' disgusting.  Theresa eats it all the time, wrapped around rice and fish into a "moosabee" or something like that.  Truly, they're gross.

"Do you want me to eat the McRib or not?"

Remembering the original goal, I said, "Fine.  But you're eating the McRib first."

She was a bit reluctant at first:

She tried to get away with a couple microscopic nibbles, but Doug and I weren't about to let her get away with it.  "You gotta at least take a full bite, meat and bun," I said.  So she did.

I kept my end of the bargain by choking down a bit of seaweed.  In case you're wondering, it tastes just like fish food smells, if that makes any sense. 

Of course, we still had about 90% of a McRib left uneaten.  Theresa sure wasn't going to finish it off, Doug and I both passed, and Obie was still sitting silently on the couch waiting for the whole ordeal to blow over.  In the end, there was only one reasonable thing to do . . .

It was only fair.  Newton had gone through a pretty traumatic experience.

It may have taken a few weeks of playing Sam-I-Am -- offering bribes, giving a massage, and finally stooping to doggie abduction -- but as promised, I got Theresa to eat (or at least take a bite of ) a McRib sandwich.

Mission McComplished.


d

The McRib Experiment: The Fine Print

In my continuing quest to persuade my fiance Theresa to eat a McRib, I've now had to resort to, in the words of former President George W. Bush, some trickeration.  Previously, Theresa turned down my offer of ten dollars (eighty-seven cents Canadian) to partake of the tasty McSandwich so I was forced to develop Plan B, which went something like this:

Completely out of the blue, I presented Theresa with a certificate for a free "expectation free" massage, and when I say "expectation free," I trust that all of you in committed relationships will know precisely what I'm talking about.  It was just going to be a massage.  That's all. 

So a few nights ago, after a long day's work, Theresa decided to redeem her certificate.  "This is really nice," she said.  "What did I do to deserve this?"

"What did you do?  Nothing.  I just know you've been working hard, so I thought I'd help you relax," I said, stifling a sinister chuckle.  "Just lie down and let me take it from there."

So she received her half-hour massage.  All humility aside, I think I did a pretty good job.

"That was nice," said Theresa.  "I feel so spoiled."

"Well, you know, you did have the certificate.  When something's written out like that, you're kind of obligated to follow through, right?"

"That's right, and I appreciate it."

The trap, my friends, had been set.

The next day, she called me at work.  "I just wanted to thank you again for pampering me last night.  It was very thoughtful of you."

"Yeah, well, you did read the fine print, right?"

Blurry I know, but you get the idea.

I forgot to tell you earlier, at the very bottom of the certificate, I included a line of very small print, and I do mean very small.  I think I set the point size at six.  Five, perhaps.  Also, I changed the font color from standard black to a pale gray, not too much different than the color of the paper the certificate was printed on.

 But it was there so it counts, right?  Who's with me on this?

"The fine print?  What are you talking about?"

"The fine print on the certificate.  Wanna know what it said?"

"I'm not eating a fucking McRib."

"Au contraire," I said, because whenever possible I like to work a little French into the conversation.  "According to the certificate, which is now valid because you accepted the promised massage, the bearer must consume one McRib sandwich."

"Dammit," said Theresa, "I should've known there was a catch.  And here I've been thinking how wonderful you are for taking care of me just because you wanted to.  But you didn't really want to, did you?  It was all part of your plan to make me eat a stupid McRib."

"Uh, well, no," I said, trying desperately to dig myself out of this one, "I wanted to give you a massage because, like I said, you've been working hard.  But then I thought I'd, you know, throw in the thing about the McRib."

"You're mean."

So once again, my dog Munson enjoyed a McRib dinner.  And when I went out in our back yard the next day, I learned something kind of interesting.  Without putting too fine a point on it, it seems that the canine digestive system does not adequately process chopped onions.

Now it's on to Plan C.  I don't know what that is yet, exactly, but I'll come up with something.


TO BE CONTINUED . . .


d

The McRib Experiment: The Bribe

Several days ago, my fiance Theresa assured me that there was, and I quote, "No way you can get me to eat a McRib."  Of course, I took this as a challenge, so now I'm going to do everything in my power to get her to partake of the McDonald's "Limited Time Only" delicacy.  We're calling it, "The McRib Experiment".

My first attempt took place on the evening of November 9th.  I stopped by the local Mickey D's on my way home from work and ordered the McRib combo.  Immediately, there was a problem.

"I'm sorry, but we're out of McRib buns," said the drive-through McPloyee.

"You've gotta be freakin' kiddin' me.  You've got these things for six weeks and you're already out of buns?"

"We're expecting some more in about fifteen minutes if you want to wait.  Or we could put it on one of our honey baked rolls."

"Yeah, fine, do that." I said.  It's mystery meat slathered in fake barbecue sauce.  How much worse could a substitute bun make it?

When I got home, Theresa was sitting in the living room.  "Hi, Honey," I said.  "I got you something to eat.  Take a look."  I held up the McDonald's bag.

"I'm not eating a McRib," she said.

"Okay, here's the deal.  I'll give you ten bucks right now to eat it."  Suddenly I started to feel a little bit like Sam-I-Am.  If she turned down the money, maybe I could get her to eat one in a box.  Or with a fox.  Or in a house.  Or with a mouse.

I took a ten dollar bill from my wallet and set it along side the McRib.

"No way," said Theresa.  "Look at that crap, it's disgusting."

Her son Doug came over.  "Can I have the ten bucks if I eat it?"

"No.  It's for your mom.  Besides, for ten bucks, you'd eat your own shoe."

"What's your point?" asked Doug.

"Yeah, well, forget it."  I turned to Theresa.  "Well, there it is, all yours."

"I told you I'm not eating that," said Theresa.

"You sure?  Ten dollars . . . Meal, or No Meal?" I asked, dramatically.

"Uh, no meal."

Since I'm not going to go above a ten-spot for the bribery phase, I guess it's time to move on to Plan B.  And don't worry, there is most definitely a Plan B.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the McRib didn't go to waste . . .

Of course, the fact that Munson went out in the back yard and immediately yakked all over the place is only going to make my mission more difficult.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .



d

The McRib Experiment: Prologue

On Sunday night, Theresa and I were watching the Green Bay Packers beat the living crap out of the East Texas Boys' Choir (sometimes known as the "Dallas Cowboys") when a McDonald's commercial came on.  Apparently, the good folks at Mickey D's are bringing back the McRib, without question the most controversial food item of our time.

In layman's terms, the McRib sandwich is a slab of boneless "pork" slathered in "barbecue sauce", garnished with chopped onions and sliced pickles, and served on an over-sized dinner roll.  The key feature here is that the "meat" is shaped like a rack of ribs, only there are no bones.

Brilliant, right?

When the McRib was originally introduced in 1981, it took the nation by storm.  Okay, to be honest, it took the nation by mostly cloudy skies with a chance of showers, but still, they were a new McDonald's menu item and as such, several brave individuals tried one.  I myself was a big McRib fan, and partook of the McGoodness on many occasions only to be disappointed when they were discontinued in 1985.  Since then, the McRib has made a few "limited time only" appearances, the most recent of which began on November 2nd and runs through December 5th.

Why am I telling you this?  I'll explain.

After watching the McRib commercial during the Packers - Boys' Choir game, Theresa said, "The McRib is back?  Those things are disgusting.  I've never had one in my life."

"Well, then how do you know it's disgusting?"

"Just look at it."

"Yeah, it's a rack of ribs on a bun, I've had 'em before.  They're actually pretty tasty."

"Pickles and onions, on fake meat?  No thanks.  There's no way you could get me to eat that crap."

I'm not one to pass up a challenge like that, so I've now got about five weeks to bribe, threaten, coerce, trick, or manipulate Theresa into partaking of a delectable McRib sandwich.  Now, understand that I'm not going to be ridiculous about it.  I'm sure that if I said, "Hey, Theresa, here's five hundred bucks.  Eat this McRib and it's yours," she'd down that sucker in nothing flat.  But I don't think any reasonable person would call me the winner in that particular scenario.

So the key here is for me to get her to eat the McRib for as little compensation as possible.   Sort of a "Meal or No Meal" type thing.  At least, it's going to start out that way.  But if she can't be bought or bribed, I may have to resort to trickery.

We'll see how it goes.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .




d

McAlpha and Omega

You know things have gotten out of hand when McDonald's has the nerve to print brochures outlining their menu's "nutrition facts".  Worrying about nutrition while you're stuffing a Double Quarter Pounder down your throat is kind of like analyzing the medical records of a Tijuana hooker.  If it were really that important to you, you wouldn't be there in the first place.

It's not just Mickey D's, though.  It seems like all fast food chains have suddenly realized that, hey, perhaps the food we're serving is somehow contributing to our country's obesity problem.  Maybe we should sprinkle in a few McSalads and BK Fruit Cups to balance out the Triple Whoppers and McLesterol Burgers.

Which is a shame.

When I go to a fast food restaurant, I have no delusions about what I'm doing to my body.  Don't insult my intelligence with a Healthy Choice menu or whatever you're calling it.  If I want a salad, I'll go to the grocery store, buy a bunch of vegetables and some low calorie dressing, then go home and make myself a healthy lunch.  At In-N-Out Burger, though, just give me the damn burger and fries and be done with it.  I won't hold you responsible.

Even Subway has gotten into the act.  For years, Subway has sort of put itself up on this pedestal of "we're better for you than those burger places," proclaiming that their sandwiches are lower in fat and less destructive to the human body than Big Macs or Macho Burritos.  This came as a surprise to no one.  But now Subway is taking steps to make their product even more nutritionally sound.

Let me back up for a minute and tell you that I've always been a big sandwich fan.  I grew up in New Jersey which is basically the sandwich capital of the world.  My dad would regularly stop by Mike's Sub Shop in Dunellen and bring home foot-long subs for the family, and to this day I have never had a sandwich that approached the unparalleled deliciousness of Mike's Italian Special.

Note: Mike's Sub Shop is not an official sponsor of Knucklehead Humor, nor have they paid an advertising fee.  However, if Mike feels compelled to send me a year's supply of Italian Specials, I would not turn down such an offer.

Yes, Luke, we do have Omega 3 bread.

Anyway, I was getting my lunch at Subway yesterday when the sandwich artist (they really call themselves that) asked me if I wanted to try the new Omega 3 bread.

"Omega 3 bread?" I said.  "Sounds like something the waiter would drop off at your table if you were having dinner at the Mos Eisley Cantina."

"Where's that?"

"Never mind.  What's Omega 3 bread?"

"It's a 9-grain wheat bread with Omega 3 nutrients added."

"And Omega 3 nutrients are what, exactly?"  I asked.

"Um . . . well, they're like . . ."

"Forget it, doesn't matter.  I'll give it a try."  I was going to get my foot-long Italian BMT on wheat bread anyway, might as well see what this Omega 3 was all about.

As it turns out, Omega 3 bread is plain old wheat bread fortified with wood chips, lawn clippings, and -- if I'm not mistaken -- sand.  High fiber is one thing, but it tasted like I was eating my front yard.  With onions.  Okay, maybe it was a bit better for me, but it couldn't make THAT much of a difference.  I'm going back to the plain old white bread, pronto.

The moral to this story, if there is one, would be: Don't screw around trying to be something you're not.  Decide what you are, and stick with it.

Hey, it worked for the Big Mac.


d

The Best and the Worst: Fast Food Menu Items

 Okay, I'll just come right out and say it, I eat way too much fast food.  I could make a lot of excuses for my poor eating habits like my job keeps me so busy I only have time to grab a quick lunch, or I'm not a very good cook, or fast food is a cheap way to fill my belly.  All those things are true, but if we're going to be completely honest about it, I just really, really like a good burger.  Or a burrito.  And fries.  Given my experience with the quick-cuisine industry, I'm happy to share with you the best and the worst of what our fast food chains have to offer.

THE BEST

1. Double Double (In-N-Out Burger)

This one is a no-brainer.  For those of you not on the West Coast, In-N-Out Burger makes the greatest hamburgers known to man, and the Double Double is their crown jewel.  Two patties, two slices of cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and secret sauce.  Simple, yet perfect.  And while that's the "basic" formula for the Double Double, there's a whole "underground" menu available for those of us in the know.  First of all, there is no limit on the number of patties and cheese slices you can order -- the 3x3, the 4x4, whatever you want.  Legend has it that someone once ordered a 100x100 for a party, at the everyday low price of $98.  "Animal Style" burgers (my personal favorite) are made with a mustard-grilled burger, sauce, tomatoes, pickles, and grilled onions, the "Flying Dutchman" is just the meat and cheese with no bun.  Whatever your preference, In-N-Out Burger is the best of the best.

2. Macho Combination Burrito (Del Taco)

When my family first moved to California my Aunt Judy, who lived in Hollywood at the time, introduced me to the Macho Combo and I've been a fan ever since.  It weighs about fifteen pounds (okay, maybe not that much but it seems like it when it's sitting in your belly), contains beef, beans, veggies, two kinds of hot sauce and sour cream, and is mucho delicioso.  I get mine with no sour cream or green sauce, and with extra red sauce.  Like I said, these things are enormous.  A grizzly bear could hibernate for an entire winter after eating just one.  Of course, his farts would wipe out a small village.

3. Homestyle Chicken Filet (Wendy's)

I'm not a huge fan of fast food chicken sandwiches, but I'll make an exception with Wendy's.  There's nothing at all fancy about it -- just a breaded chicken breast, lettuce, tomato, and mayonaisse -- but the chicken is always juicy.  Pair this up with a cup of Wendy's chili and a chocolate Frosty and that's one heck of a lunch.  Back in the 80's I worked at Wendy's during the infamous "Where's the Beef" era and when it got close to closing time, a couple of us would drop a few chicken breasts into the fryer hoping that there would be "leftovers" when it came time to lock up.  They made a great late-night snack.

4. Cole Slaw (KFC)

Cole slaw is an interesting dish.  My mom's recipe is absolutely delicious, while the stuff you get in the deli section of Stater Brothers supermarket tastes like lawn clippings soaked in tepid dishwater.  There's just no industry standard for cole slaw.  But if there were, Kentucky Fried Chicken's entry would most definitely be the one to shoot for.  If KFC existed on Mount Olympus, Zeus and Apollo would've shunned ambrosia and nectar in favor of cole slaw and crispy Snackers. 

5. French Fries (McDonald's)

McDonald's French Fries are the Beatles of the fast food industry.  The best, without any competitors even close to attaining their pure and unquestioned greatness.  I don't know what the McRecipe is for their fries, but my guess is that a key ingredient is crack because once you eat one, you just keep eating and eating and eating.  In my forty-plus years of McDonald's customership, I can honestly tell you I've never thrown away a single fry, not even the burned and cripsy McRejects.  I would have no problem whatsoever with McDonald's creating a fifth size for their French Fries -- small, medium, large, Super Size, and Infinity.  A bargain at any price.




THE WORST

1. Chicken McNuggets (McDonald's)

It amazes me that the same group of chefs who came up with the world's greatest French Fries also created the single most disgusting lumps of crap to ever grace a McMenu (have I worn out the McJokes yet?  I believe I have.).  Seriously, the Chicken McNuggets are so terrible that I once saw a few hundred hens and roosters picketing outside the McDonald's corporate headquarters.  But let's not kid ourselves here.  If you believe that McNuggets are made with 100% pure chicken, you probably also think Joan Rivers has never had plastic surgery.  The first clue that something's not right in McDonaldland is the nuggets only come in three McShapes (yeah, I went there again): a rough circle, kidney-shaped, and something that vaguely resembles one of  Santa Claus's boots.  Whatever the shape, the one constant is their taste which can best be described as spongy cardboard.  No amount of barbecue sauce can make up for that.

2. Taco (Jack in the Box)

A basic rule of thumb in the fast food industry is this:  If the word "taco" doesn't appear in the name of your restaurant, you have no business making tacos.  Nowhere is this more obvious than at Jack in the Box.  Jack's tacos are unique in the fact that aside from the cheese and vegetables, they come "preformed" as a frozen taco shell with a lump of meat/sauce/seasonings wedged inside.  This is deep-fried, pried open by the "cook" and filled with lettuce, tomatoes and cheese.  More often than not, the shell ends up limp and soggy, dripping grease and recently-thawed beef juice all over the place.  Since they taste like sewage, the mess is simply not worth it.

3. Whopper (Burger King)

When a restaurant chain dubs itself the burger "king", you'd expect it to serve burgers that go beyond the level of mediocre.  The Whopper isn't an especially horrible hamburger, but it's hardly exceptional.  Besides, it's made with mayonnaise as a standard ingredient.  Oh sure, I could "have it my way" and simply tell them to hold the mayo, but what's the point?  The fact that they even considered using mayonnaise on a burger kills their credibility from the get-go.  If we were to look at all the major fast food chains in the country (and we're going to come fairly close), I doubt we could rank Burger King's hamburgers in the top ten.  It takes more than flame-broiling, that's for damn sure.

4. Big Carl/Big Shef (Carl's Jr./Hardee's)

Not too long ago, Carl's Jr. (Hardees in some parts of the country) came up with a burger called the "Big Carl" designed to compete with -- or more accurately, copy -- the Big Mac.  Two all beef patties, special sauce, etc., etc., with the only difference being its larger size.  I've had a couple Big Carls and to tell you the truth, they're pretty decent.  But they're not quite the Big Mac.  But all that's beside the point.  I have no respect for a restaurant that shamelessly rips off one of its rivals.  It's like that commercial where the creepy Burger King guy sneaks into McDonald's at night and steals the blueprint for the Egg McMuffin.  There's a reason other companies steal from Mickey D's.  It's because they know they're not as good.  Just a bunch of sore McLosers (I just can't seem to help myself).

5. French Fries (In-N-Out Burger)

Remember when I mentioned the McDonald's paradox, how odd it is that the company that makes the best fries on the planet also makes repulsive chicken nuggets?  In-N-Out Burger has a similar situation, only in reverse.  They make incredible hamburgers, but their fries flat-out suck.  The problem is simple.  In-N-Out makes its French fries from actual potatoes and nothing else, if you can believe it.  You can see the employees over by the fryers, slicing the spuds and submerging them in the grease.  They leave out all the tasty additives and preservatives (like the crack they use at McD's, for example).  In a perfect world, In-N-Out would merge with McDonald's and serve Double Double cheeseburgers with McFries.

But with my luck, they'd go with In-N-Out fries and Chicken McNuggets.


d

What Ever Happened To . . . Mayor McCheese?

Michael McCheese was elected mayor of McDonaldland in November, 1972 in a landslide over the little-known and long-since-forgotten incumbent Mayor Vincent Vatagrese.  McCheese served as mayor for sixteen years, bringing about great change in McDonaldland, including drive-thru windows, the Egg McMuffin and, of course, the ever-popular McRib.

But despite his many accomplishments, the McCheese Administration was fraught with scandal and controversy.

In 1974, McDonald's arch-rival Burger King launched a national advertising campaign, encouraging its customers to "Have it Your Way." In an effort to put the brakes on the competition's rising popularity, unidentified McCheese staffers bugged Burger King headquarters, hoping to steal recipe secrets and advertising strategy.  A Burger King security guard discovered the break-in, and several McDonald's officials were implicated. McCheese denied any knowledge of the incident, however, investigators found a recording of McCheese and Grimace talking about using Officer Big Mac to obstruct the FBI's investigation of the Burger King break-ins.

McDonaldland Post reporters Bob McWoodward and Carl Burgerstein continued to uncover evidence that supported claims that Mayor McCheese was involved in the cover-up.  The scandal became known as "Burgergate" and many of McCheese's advisors encouraged the mayor to resign before he was impeached from office.  This, however, would prove unnecessary when Burger King dropped all charges against McCheese and his associates in exchange for a large sum of cash and the recipe for McDonald's french fries.

Burgergate was not the only scandal to rock the mayor's office.  In 1988, McCheese was accused of sexual assault, allegedly accosting a young fast-food entrepreneur at a restaurant convention in New York.

"All I wanted to do was say hello," remembers the victim, known only as Wendy. "I'd always admired Mayor McCheese and the McDonald's corporation, and I was hoping to get some ideas for my own restaurants.  I approached him in the hotel lobby and introduced myself.  To my surprise, he said that he was familiar with my restaurants.  He told me that he'd like to get to know more about my buns, and I expressed interest in his Big Mac.  He also mentioned that he was looking into a concept known as super-sizing, which sounded like a great idea.  We talked for a few more minutes, and he suggested that I come up to his room so he could show me his recipe for special sauce.  Well, once we got to his room, I suddenly realized that only one of us had been talking about hamburgers."

Humiliated, Wendy didn't mention the incident for almost six months, but by then it didn't matter anymore.

Shortly after the incident with Wendy, McCheese traveled to Los Angeles for a "business meeting."  While in L.A., McCheese took the opportunity to see his favorite musical, Cheeses Priced, Superstar.  An unidentified assailant approached McCheese's box from behind, put a gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.  Due to the hilarious yet freakish composition of McCheese's head, paramedics on the scene had difficulty identifying what was blood and what was ketchup.  At one point, a frustrated EMT was heard yelling, "Well, why don't YOU taste it if it's so damn important?!"

McCheese was rushed to Sesame Seeders Sinai Hospital, and a team of surgeons and neurologists worked to save the mayor's life.  Extensive cranial damage forced the doctors to remove McCheese's patties, buns, cheese and condiments.  The operation was technically a success, but all that remained of the mayor were pickles, tomatoes and onions kept alive in a refrigerator.  McCheese remained in this vegetative state until 1990 when his family finally permitted doctors to pull the plug.

The gunman was never apprehended, although several witnesses reported seeing a clown-like figure with an abnormally large head leaving the theater shortly after the attempted murder.


9