Modern day ME walks outside a McDonald’s. I catch a glimpse of a poster that seems to be advertising the return of the McRib. A brief spark of nostalgia. But, no! I care about my body now. I hang my head and continue walking. Ronald McDonald stops me. He points to the window of the McDonald’s.
Me: What are you…
Ronald McDonald: SHH… look in there…
I look back into the window at the poster. I see my reflection.
Me:That’s not a healthy alternative to the McRib…That’s just my reflection…
Ronald puts his index finger on my lips.
Ronald McDonald: NO… look haaaarder…
I look harder.
Ronald McDonald: You see… it lives in YOU.
I press my face up against the glass. A ten-year old me with a double chin and barbecue sauce on my face comes into focus. He’s holding a McRib.
Young Fat Charlie: CHARLIE!
Me: Fat Charlie?
Young Fat Charlie: Charlie, you have forgotten me…
Me: No! How could I!? I just filled out is all!
Young Fat Charlie: You have forgotten who you are, and so have forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Charlie, you are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the circle of life! What is this “Low Carb” bullshit?
Me: How can I go back! I’m not who I used to be…
Young Fat Charlie: Remember who you are! You used to throw up on purpose so you could eat more before you even knew what Bulimia was! You switched to just using laxatives so you wouldn’t feel like you had an eating disorder! You thought girls were scary! Remember who you are!
Young Fat Charlie begins to fade into the distance.
Me: No! Please don’t leave me! I still think girls are kind of scary!
Young Fat Charlie: Remember…
Me: FAT CHARLIE, NOOOOO!!!
Young Fat Charlie: …remember…
Me: Don’t leave me! I still own all my Heroclix!
Young Fat Charlie: ……………remember…
Young Fat Charlie finally vanishes.
Ronald McDonald: What was that!? Those grease stains on the window, very peculiar, don’t you think?
Me: Yeah, it could use a good washing.
Ronald McDonald: Ah, change is good!
Me: Yeah but it’s not easy… I know what I have to do. But having a Mcrib means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long… I started playing lacrosse in high school… What’s the deal with the outfit, by the way? Do you work here? Is this a promotional thing?
Ronald McDonald hits me with a baseball bat.
Me: Ow! What was that for!?
Ronald McDonald: It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past!
Me: No! Wait, what the fuck!?
I notice that Ronald McDonald’s clown suit is covered in vomit and fluid-stains. He’s missing most of his teeth. A stray heroine needle falls out of his pocket. He jabs me in the ribs with the baseball bat.
Ronald McDonald: Ah yes the past can hurt, but the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it!
Ronald McDonald tries to hit me again and fractures my shin. I fall to the ground.
Ronald McDonald: AHH YOU SEE!!! So what are you going to do!?
Me: Help! Somebody call the police! I don’t know this man!
I am loosing blood.
Ronald McDonald: Ah! Where are you going!
Me: What… nowhere… so much blood…
Ronald McDonald: Good! Get out of here!
Ronald McDonald raises his bat high above his head, and drives it into the back of my skull. Darkness.
I wake up four months later in the hospital. I no longer have control of the lower half of my body and will have to poop through a hole in the side of my abdomen for the rest of my life. The baseball bat also damaged my frontal lobe, and I will have to re-learn English over the next several years. I do not remember my friends, or my family members or even my pets. The doctors have been working with me to help jog my memories. There is but one artifact of my past that I still hold on to. Every now and then I muster the wherewithal to mutter it’s name: McRib. All I’ll ever want. All I’ll ever need. McRib.