Dr. Kevorkian may not be performing assisted suicides any longer, but rest assured you can still turn to Ronald McDonald for help. As the McRib sandwich returns once again (now after its third “Farewell Tour”), it’s a strange reminder that pork, bun, tangy “BBQ” sauce, pickles, and onions can go dangerously wrong. Sure you can develop hypertension, diabetes, or any other slow killer from just about any fast food chain, but McDonald’s wants to set the record straight – guns don’t kill people, McRibs kill people.
Using no doubt the cheapest finest cuts of what may have been considered pork in another life or in some perverse dimension, McDonald’s pulverizes this “meat” into an appetizing convalescent home texture, mixing in a secret blend of water, salt, dextrose, BHA and BHT, propyl gallate and citric acid to optimize shelf life flavor and to ensure that you, the consumer, enjoy a slow, painful death sometime thereafter. To rub figurative salt into the wounds (not to mention the 980mg of actual sodium), some culinary cacodemon thought pressing the porcine pulp into some form vaguely resembling ribs would add to its charm and instill some sort of subconscious association with true barbecue.
Never missing a beat, The Simpsons famously parodied the McRib with Krusty Burger releasing its own “Ribwich”:
Krusty: Listen, about the Ribwich. We won’t be making them anymore. The animal we made them from is now extinct.
Homer: The pig?
Otto: The cow?
Krusty: You’re way off. Think smaller…think more legs.
Proving their complete lack of shame, McDonald’s responded with a viral marketing campaign promoting a fictional group of their own creation – the Boneless Pig Farmers Association of America. Normally when companies so brazenly embrace the fact that their product is offensive to life and well-being, they have to carry some sort of Surgeon General’s warning. I propose that Dr. C. Everett Koop is a closet McRib fan, and agreed to look the other way as long as McDonald’s only released the McRib on a limited basis so as to not kill off the entire country at once. This would also explain why good ol’ Koop wears a “Life Alert” – while he can’t resist the call of the McRib, he understands that he can and most likely will have some sort of cardiac episode after consumption and wants emergency assistance to be within arm’s reach.
This science experiment of a snack appears to be a mix of a cardiologist’s worst nightmare and a chemist’s wet dream. Having expounded the virtues of the “patty,” allow me to tantalize your taste buds with some of the goodies to be found in the bun. An artisan baker no doubt rises early in the morning to carefully prepare each batch, selecting only the best bleached flour, the highest of the high fructose corn syrup, carefully hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oils (he likes to surprise you!) and just a touch of sodium stearoyl lactylate, datem, ascorbic acid, azodicarbonamide, mono- and diglycerides, ethoxylated mono- and diglycerides, monocalcium phosphate, enzymes, guar gum, calcium peroxide, and calcium propionate for a special hand-made experience that only the McRib can deliver.
One benefit of the bun is that it does add 3g of dietary fiber, just in case your brain and immune system aren’t already working on borrowed time telling your intestines to flush this rapacious shit out as quickly as possible.
So, if you’re like a lot of Americans right now, swimming upstream against the recent financial deluge, looking for an escape but unable to muster up the courage or strength to pull the trigger or jump off a tall building, just sell your house (it’s probably worth at least 10 or 12 McRibs in today’s real estate market) and head over to your neighborhood Mickey D’s. Force down as many McRibs as you possibly can, then eat two more, and waddle out the door. Before you know it, your pace will crawl to a standstill, and as your body collapses, your spirit will continue walking — peacefully marching toward those golden arches in the sky.