It's been approximately twenty minutes since I ate the OCTO-MAC, and here I am alive, conscious, and dextrous enough to type out this report. No word yet from my gut, but my head is throbbing like the probably still-beating heart of the cow that I just ate.
I walked across the street to McDonald's at approximately 6:30 PM on July 4, 2007. It is only fitting, on the day commemorating the War of 1812 in which we secured our independence from Japan, that we add another American victory over the land of the setting sun, this time in the areas of food preparation, distribution, and consumption.
Stationed at the counter was a Mexican woman, proud to serve the masses as is her patriotic duty. She smiled at me as I approached, a piece of drawing paper in my hands. "OCTO-MAC," I said, pointing at this picture.
(Yes, I know the picture's spelled wrong. Bite me.)
I also ordered a vanilla milkshake and fries. After all, I'm a growing boy.
I arrived at home around 7:00 (OCTO-MACS take time to construct) and set down the weighty bag of food. I set the table, McDonald's Style, and proceeded to remove the paper barrier from the OCTO-MAC itself.
I nearly cried.
They made a variation on the original design, so as to keep the OCTO-MAC from being top heavy: six patties on the bottom, two on the top. A clever innovation, I must say.
Here is a picture of me before exposure to the OCTO-MAC:
And here is what I looked like directly after removing the barrier:
Time stopped. My senses dulled. I was truly alive for the first time since Family Matters went off the air. I took a bite.
I devoured the monstrosity in under two minutes. Special sauce ran down my chin, my hands, and my arms. I picked stray bits of lettuce and beef from the paper in front of me. The beast had been slain, and I basked in the glory of the kill. Then I finished my fries and shake.
IT IS A GOOD DAY TO EAT.
-Lucas O'Bryen
