There was a cool breeze that night and I could tell it was going to be no ordinary trip to the golden arches.  I was with the crew and the Griz led us onward through the foggy swinging doors.  The Griz had no fear of this dark place.  He only fears one thing, and death isn't it.  When we stepped through the threshold I could only think to  myself “This is where stale air goes to die.”

The Griz approached the counter and talked to the shoddy cashier and told her what he came for.  She tried to look him in the eyes to confirm what he had just said, but looking into the eyes of the Griz takes more courage then most have.  She glanced away and totaled his order.  I was next and I almost faltered, but looking deep inside myself and found the spirit I needed to take the plunge into the abyss.

 

The next minutes in anticipation were almost too much.  Questions and panic start to take over.  In the river of unknown I started to drown.  But then she called and we picked up the tray to took it to our slick white plastic seats.

Fearless, as always, the Griz opened his sandwich and began his feast.  I glanced down, said a prayer, and opened the box containing this deadly meal.  At first I was in a sort of catatonic state.  I had never held something so deadly in my own hands.   Then I picked it up and took the first bite.  I can tell you in that moment my entire life flashed before my eyes and I saw all my triumphs and failures in a split second, and they had a smokey aftertaste.

At first, the only thing I could notice was the sweetness of the sandwich.  Like a jelly sandwich with a soft fo-pork interior.  Soon I could taste the McBarbeque sauce and when my eye sight returned I tried to savor my last moments on earth.  Thinking of my past loves and new friends.  How I would miss them in the after life.  Then my fingers got sticky.  I had been slimed by the McRib.  Sweet red abomination was dripping from my fingers and I almost couldn't move them.  I figured this might just be part of the paralysis at first then death would fallow.  A funny thing happened then.  I didn't die.

I finished the McRib and didn't die.  Now you would thing at this moment joy would sweep over me, but there was a twisted bit of disappointment.  The McRib is just a sticky non-lethal sandwich.  I think you could simulate accurately it by covering memory foam in grape jelly and liquid-smoke.  I had heard all these legends of a fatal sandwich that could take down the greatest of men, but I didn't find it.  May be next time when we go to Carl's Jr.