Internettt. Maman and I are on the road and I just had lunch from McDs and I’m seriously suffering from McRegret. My McAngus was McAwful.
It did, however, remind me of a true story of a terrible, terrible meal I had once. I’d venture to say it was the worst meal I’ve ever eaten. And if you’re expecting a tale about a bad restaurant with poor service, you’re in for a surprise – because this meal goes above and beyond a mere condemned restaurant story. Nay, internet, pull your pants up and hold on, because this is the tale of the Tour de Terrible.
Our story begins, as most good stories do, with a drink. It was my junior year of college and my neighbours were having a party of epic proportions.
To start, we set up a tub in the kitchen, filled it with a dubious mixture of beverages, got a bunch of turkey basters, and took turns squirting shots of this concoction into each others mouths. Oh college.
Yet it gets better, folks. We played a game called Beyripped, which is essentially a combination of beer pong and flip cup. My roommate and I, it so happens, are really excellent at flip cup and were on opposite teams, so the game went on and on and on until her team won on a technicality. Whatever. Not upset.
I believe the night ended when one of the boys who lived in the apartment grabbed his guitar and we had a singalong. Or we watched a few episodes of Storage Wars until everyone past out. Either.
So anyways, the next morning I had the most hellaciously bad hangover I’ve ever had. It was awful. I wanted to die. I crawled out onto my patio and curled up into a little ball with a mimosa and a bottle of aspirin ready to spend my entire day lying there. My neighbours across the way were in a similar state on their porch.
We had the following conversation:
15 minutes later, we were in my car heading for McDonald’s.
I know. Out of all of the amazing places we could go where I went to college, McDonalds? My ex boyfriend (Dali) used to take me to the most amazing breakfast sandwich place I’ve ever been to. Toasted bagels, fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, the whole deal. I suggested it. But no. McDonkadonk.
We split an order of 50 chicken McNuggets with every type of sauce they had. I thought the insanity would end there (I admit, I have a weakness for chicken McNuggs. I think it’s the same compulsion that drives me to order god-awful Chinese food every time I’m in an airport).
We had a ball mixing all the sauces together and trying out some sincerely disturbing combinations, but after 15-20 of them, I was pretty good to go. Alas, not to be, internet. Because this not the end of the story. Oh no.
The neighbours decided they were not satisfied. So we went across the street to Wendy’s and had burgers. With bacon and cheese and the whole nine yards. I’m pretty sure at this point my stomach just gave up on me.
To cap it all off, we finished the morning at Burger King for another round of burgers, as you do, and I ended up dipping my french fries into pure honey (!??!!?).
And then we went out for ice-cream, because I have no respect for my internal organs.
So, to recap- 15-20 chicken McNuggets, a Wendy’s Baconator (plus fries), a Burger King Whopper (plus fries), and a black raspberry Creamee. Stop. Stop yourself, past me.
My Roommate found me curled on the couch watching Say Yes to the Dress reruns that afternoon and drinking Pepto Bismol straight from the bottle. She gave me the once-over, spun on her heel, and disappeared until the sun had set and I was tucked into bed, moaning and crying and wishing I wasn’t an absolute moron.
This is why I’ve haven’t eaten fast food in about two years, people. Bad things happen.