Here it is in all of its glory: 
The sandwich of mechanically separated finger-lickin’ doom and self defeat is back for a limited time only, presumably to temporarily drain the McRib goo silos somewhere deep within the dark, wanton heart of Middle America, but how could you say no to “The Legend” as the campaign to win the hearts and minds of the American people via Facebook and Twitter laugh out their maniacal course in pitch-perfect marketing?
Oh yes, the McRib awaits your salivating diabetic vessel of corn-syrup transport (Your ass says hi), but the only thing legendary about it is the ingredients list, of which, is probably an orgy of scientific calculation in salt, slop, pieces of Dick Cheney’s soul and at least five small Burmese children who fell to an unfortunate death in the McRib factory. Mmm…taste the mystery!
Sadly, there seems to be an all out blitz of positive media going around the interwebs with said sandwich of comet-guiding proportions, but there’s one thing you can’t deny: the McRibLips, for when you want to make out with your rapture-fearing wife at your friendly neighborhood McDonald’s, is hella cute.
Now, while the McRib vastly speeds up the digging of our oversized, round-shaped grave upon its release every few years, it brings upon itself a vast, universal sized array of questions that can only be answered by the most cretin and purely evil of our Marketing and Business Overlords (Blessed they be upon thy soul, lead us into delicious temptation, amen).
What exactly comprises the McRib? Well, if you’ve seen this picture of a cotton-candy-esque river of flowing pink goop, there’s not much left to the imagination. Oh, hell, who am I kidding. “Buy one now! The McRib sandwich, a specialized proprietary blend of Unicorn, Centaur and seven-week old puppies is only available for a limited time! Quick, everybody’s getting one!”
You have to wonder when the incarcerated pig woke up that day (If the McRib does indeed contain trace amounts of pork), what it thought it was going to turn into by the end of business hours. “A stamped shape of mystery meat? Please, I’ll at least be a dinner ham and a few pounds of bacon! Hey…hey, what are you doing with that rib-shaped branding iron?! …That is so not cool. McRibs? Aww s@#t…”
McDonald’s doesn’t even try to mask its evilness anymore. They’ve taken to the tube and Google with ads completely mocking the thing as “A legend, where no one knows it origins” with a caricature of Ben Franklin holding a glowing McRib with his mouth gooed with what appears to be a shade of defecated Rocky Road with a side of rimjob for the nose.
Oh, it’s good marketing, and creative, funny people are wasting their precious time in life selling the idea of making one comfortable through laughter and absurdity in a way that George Carlin is probably looking down from the heavens above in a state of pure shock. Instead of inventing new technologies that could create artificial gravity in space or cure cancer they’re selling the meat scraped from the bones of what once was living because it pays better in the immediate future. Social progressives, they are not.
You know, Pixar has always been good at pointing out serious societal flaws in their films through the lens of animations that have gripped the minds of millions of blossoming children, but you have to wonder if they know a little something more about ourselves than we do when it comes to the repulsive, blobular masses of gravitating gluttony that were the ever-so-delightfully-dumb Earthly population in Wall·E. But hey, what do I care? I’m eating a legend! We’ll never become that!
