Dear McDonald’s, You and I have a problem. I know, I know. You get this all the time. But it’s not what you think. I’m not going to complain about your contribution to the obesity epidemic. I’m not going to complain about your low employee wages. I’m not even going to complain about your sexist toys.
The truth is, that despite all of these rather glaring criticisms, I’m still a customer. That little bag of convenience that is the Happy Meal can be a lifesaver. I even appreciate that you’ve tried to make it healthier by adding apples. (Word of advice: if you want the kids to actually eat the apples, maybe try not soaking them in formaldehyde.)
But yesterday, that little bag of convenient happiness morphed into a satchel of horror. I reached my hand into the bag expecting to pull out some sort of Spider-man action figure. Instead, I got this:
This is an abomination. Blasphemy against the words “happy meal”. No one feels happy after seeing a tarantula, and no one wants to eat a meal after seeing a tarantula. Please take this free marketing advice to heart: don’t ever, ever, ever, ever use a tarantula in anything that you ever make ever again.
Your Guiltily-Loyal Customer