Dear the McDonalds,

I would like to place on record that my love for your meals runs as deep as the furring they have caused in my arteries. I am a frequent buyer of your lush McMeal, and have done so on a regular basis over the course of several years with no issues what-so-ever, until now…

To set the scene, it was a frankly awful Thursday morning. I was standing in my living room, looking out the window and psyching myself up to head out. Today should have been a day of excitement for me as I was due to fly off on my dream holiday to San Bernardino, California, which as you are aware is the home of your wonderful chain of restaurants. Being the founder (and at present the only member) of the Kent McDonalds Appreciation Society, I had organised a pilgrimage to visit where it had all started for Ronald McDonald and his wife, Old, on their farm. Anyway, back to the story. I headed out into the sideways rain to go and get some supplies for my trip, and was hoping to get back in time for the taxi I had booked to take me to the airport. I jumped into my car and sped off towards the town.

Upon my arrival at the town I went about my business buying the various items I required which included Sun Cream (factor 30), a new toothbrush as a treat, a I ❤ McDonald’s t-shirt I had made especially for the trip, and a disposable camera as I believe they take a much better picture than that digital rubbish you get nowadays. I returned to the car in relatively high spirits despite the still dreadful weather battering me, and decided to pop by and see the “Golden Arches”. A clear run lay ahead of me, and I made good time in arriving at the drive-thru. I spoke to Colin, who was the usual operator at window 1, and placed my order of one large “mac”, and a CMS (if you are unfamiliar with the in restaurant lingo at McDonalds, the “mac” is a big mac, and the CMS is a chocolate milkshake), and proceeded to window 3. “I wonder what window 2 is for.” I thought to myself, and proceeded on to window 3. Once there I saw Belinda, who is in particularly fine fettle at the moment as she got her third gold star last week for getting the change right when I paid for a quarter pounder with cheese. She greeted me merrily with her four toothed smile and passed me my order. I placed the brown bag of sheer delight in the passenger foot well and headed for home. This is where things started to go wrong.

The usual ten minute journey home from McDonalds took me 2 ½ hours, due to an unfortunate incident involving a very scared man, Mr T, a Russian T-62 battle tank and a Snickers bar which had blocked… well, destroyed the road, and led to a massive diversion to get home. The delay meant that once I arrived back at my bachelor pad, my taxi was already there waiting. I ran inside, grabbed my cases, and jumped in the cab and departed for the airport.

The holiday was out of this world. The weather was perfect, I got to tick off visiting the McDonalds museum from my Bucket list, and of course eat my fair share of McMeals throughout the fortnight. This lead to 4 heart attacks, a permanent numbness in my left leg, and an unusual urge for brains… which my wonderful travel insurance company covered the expenses for, it was simply amazing.

About two hours before I was due to land back at Heathrow airport, I suddenly realised that I had left my “Mac” in the passenger footwell, and dreaded to think what mess it would have made on my custom made “Golden Arches” car mats. I shrugged off this worry after a mild amount of hyperventilating and continued to enjoy watching “Supersize Me”, which is my favourite McDonalds film I might add. Little did I know of the horrors that were waiting for me back at home.

The car alarm greeted me upon my return. Naturally, nobody had done anything about the alarm going off, and all I got was a tirade of abuse from my next door neighbour about “how much bloody noise” it had made. After issuing my apologies, I approached the house. I could see a pinky yellow coloured ooze from underneath my garage door. I looked closer, and my nostrils told me that it was Big Mac sauce, so I dipped my finger in and licked it, alas, it was indeed Big Mac sauce. I thought it odd that my garage would be excreting this, and proceeded to make my way to the front door. I unlocked and opened the door gingerly, wondering what would greet me on the other side. I peered through to a trail of saucy destruction going through the hallway, and up the stairs. The odd pickle lay strewn on the floor, I picked one up and munched it as it had been a particularly long flight, (let’s be fair, we can’t be wasting those delicious little medallions of pickled goodness), and cautiously crept up the stairs, following the trail.

After eating about 10 pickles and dipping a few in the Big Mac sauce to help me along the way, I eventually reached the summit of the stairs, and saw the trail leading towards my bedroom. At this point I grabbed hold of the only instrument I could find to protect myself. Quite how good a shoe horn would be in defending me from whatever was making all the mess I wasn’t too sure. Being in pretty bad shape from the various McMeals I had indulged in during my holiday, I thought using my fists would probably hurt me more than whatever was in my bedroom, though my heart would probably give out again through sheer exhaustion. I got to the door and peeked in, and what I saw could only be described as the most terrifying, yet delicious thing I have ever seen.


Somehow my “Mac” had mutated into the above pictured monstrosity whilst sitting in my car foot well. An overwhelming sense of “oh my goodness” came over me and I dashed to my wardrobe, which was just out of reach of the “Mac” monster, and grabbed my trusty air rifle. I fired a few rounds into the “Mac” shedding a tear for each one that was damaging its burgery goodness, but it didn’t seem to be bothering the snarling beast.

I fled the bedroom, and slammed the door behind me, to contain the Mac monster (though at the time I hadn’t considered that it had got out of my car, out of the garage, up the stairs and opened my bedroom door even though it had no limbs…) and fled down stairs to the kitchen, where I set up my HQ and made a plan to try and kill this scrumptious savage. I grabbed my colander and placed it upon my head, for protection of course, and started masterminding.

After a good three minutes of deliberation, I came up with a plan of unparalleled brilliance. The one thing which all McMeals would fear if they mutated and started attacking things would be something which I hold almost as dear at the McDonalds Empire itself, indigestion tablets. The plan was simple, file an indigestion pill down to fit in my air rifles barrel, and shoot the gastronomic ghoul in the faint hope that it would be its kryptonite. So I began making my ammunition. Two hours later, I had a small collection of pretty lethal looking indigestion tablets, and prepared myself for a full on assault.

I pocketed my collection of ammo and loaded one in my air rifle, and paced slowly toward the foot of the stairs. Due to my fanatical watching of war films, I knew exactly what I was doing, sweeping for Charlie, whoever the hell he was, and keeping a low profile.

Ascending the stairs, I could hear the monstrosity shuffling around, still in my bedroom. My plan was simple, kick down the door, shoot it, and run away whilst the indigestion tablet did its work, a seemingly faultless plan in my eyes. I reached my bedroom door and lashed out with a Bruce Lee style kick, and fell to the floor in quite a lot of pain, as doors, it turns out, are really hard. I composed myself after a little cry, and decided to open the door in the tried and tested manner of turning the knob and pushing.

I entered the room and the McBeast was still on my bed. My mattress was now a pinky yellow colour from the sheer amount of Big Mac sauce that had been soaked up, and this really annoyed me, as my curtains and other soft furnishings didn’t match anymore, and my chi would go straight out the window. Seeing red I shot the McBeast with the first of my indigestion rounds, and retreated out of the room, the McBeast following me. It was surprisingly quick for something that was essentially a mobile heart attack, and was gaining ground on me quickly. I, for some reason best known to myself, decided to vault over the bannister down the stairs and subsequently broke my leg and fell to the bottom.

All I can describe my situation as being is dire, it was reminiscent to the scene in Arachnophobia when the big mummy spider was coming to get the main character guy who I think ended up in Dumb & Dumber? And then he shot it with a nail gun, and they all burnt and the spiders died and made squealy noises. Well change spiders, for a McBeast, and the nail gun for an air rifle loaded with indigestion tablets, and that was my dilemma.  I noticed that the first indigestion round was starting to dissolve the McBeast, and so decided my only chance was to pop the remaining rounds into it in a faint hope of success, and ultimately, not being eaten.

Thankfully the McBeast didn’t do stairs too well, his bottom bun had become a bit mushy from its overzealous Big Mac saucing and it was slowly tearing itself to shreds. I fired my remaining rounds into the beast and laid in terror as the beast came closer and closer. I suddenly had a spark of inspiration that I knew would finish the beast off. As a precautionary kind of chap, I had a secret compartment at the foot of my stairs for the eventuality that I would fall down them, and be stricken. In this compartment I had a packet of paracetamol for the pain, a tubigrip bandage and a packet of Rennie, as I would inevitably get heartburn whilst waiting for help to arrive. I opened the compartment, and grabbed the box of Rennie, then waited for the ideal moment to cast the box at the beast and kill it once and for all. As the McBeast reached me, his mouth opened to begin devouring me, and I threw the packet in. All I can say is it was very, very messy.

I had succeeded in killing the McBeast, and managed to crawl my way to the phone and call for help. The clean-up took weeks, and may I say it was the most delicious clean-up I have ever done, and I compliment you on the top class flavour.

To sum up, please inform me what window two at your drive-thru is actually for.

Yours Sincerely,

Major Lee Pistov


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s