The Big McPie (and how it almost killed me)

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Once upon a time, fine dining restaurant McDonald’s ran a promotion where, in return for voting for some shitty YouTube videos on their website, one received a voucher for a free Big Mac. Of course, I rigged the system and ended up with an unlimited supply of the burgers, and decided I’d eat nothing but Big Macs for a month.

Alright, so that’s pretty much the plot to Super Size Me, but who gives a shit. Nobody whinged when Steven Spielberg stole the plot to Brokeback Mountain off me, so fuck Will Smith.

I don’t usually eat fast food, so after a few days I was feeling a bit rough. I was going through six or seven Macs a day, and despite putting on a bit of weight and sweating out grease every time I moved, I still wanted more. They were free and I was poor, so I kept travelling around to the various Maccas that were within waddling distance of work, smashing into the gooey messes.

Despite my cravings, it wasn’t long before I was thoroughly sick of the bland-tasting burgers, so I started spicing them up with chilli sauce, chicken nuggets, and even vegetables. Alright, I lied about the vegetables – I actually popped a hash brown and a few bits of bacon on there.

By Friday I was really feeling pretty crook. My toilet habits were similar to that of a South African mongoose, my skin wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Year Nine photo, and I was scratching myself like a junkie without a fix. It wasn’t all bad, though, because it led to something amazing.

The Big McPie.

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This bad boy is basically a pie (and sauce) wedged between the layers of a Big Mac. And, despite sounding like the last meal of a fat bloke, it’s absolutely wonderful. The mince in the pie plays well off the Mac’s special sauce, and the cheeky crunch of the pasty meshes perfectly with the juicy beef patties. It’s a well-rounded meal that simply must be tried, and I thoroughly enjoyed eating it.

That was the final Mac I had, though, because that afternoon I had something of a mental breakdown. I became paranoid that people were out to get me, sensitive to sounds, and found that talking to anyone was the most horrendous thought I could have. It was actually really scary, because whatever bullshit they put in Big Macs was seriously messing with my mind, and I didn’t feel at all like myself. I scurried out of the office without saying goodbye to anyone, hid myself in a corner of the train on the way home, and spent the next day locked away at home. I haven’t been to McDonald’s since.

After one week on the Macs, I had become a bloated, hideous, anti-social cretin on the level of Rebecca Wilson or Clementine Ford. I wouldn’t recommend anyone do it, but have a crack at the Big McPie – it’s a ripper.

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