Oh, McRib. Welcome back.
I think I can say in all honesty, it's been at least 13 years since I've had one of these bad boys. Hey, McRib? Whaddya say we make it another 13 years, huh? I swear, I had one of these two days ago, and I still don't have any feeling in my feet.
For those of you who might be unfamiliar with just what a McRib is, here you go: It's some sort of patty-like substance pressed into a vaguely rib-cage-shape, slathered in overly-sweet BBQ sauce, topped with onions and pickles, and served on a chewy hoagie roll. Word to the wise: bread should never be chewy.
Another word to the wise: do NOT wipe the sauce off the McRib. You will be tempted - I urge you to fight that temptation. The result is like seeing a naked Shelly Winters - you may be intrigued, you may be curious, you may be fascinated, but you will never be able to get that image off your corneas.
The first thing you notice about the McRib is the scent. It smells of teenagers and desperation. Many of you will be asking, "What's the difference?". Well, it's subtle. Take salt, and add hormones, dissatisfaction and Axe Body Spray, and there you go. After the first bite, you do find yourself asking, "Is that gristle?". After the second bite, you find yourself asking, "Seriously, is that gristle?". If you manage to make it to a third bite, you find yourself saying, "Dear god, please let that be gristle". By the time you get to the fourth, you just feel like someone's been punching you repeatedly in the back. The McRib may be the only sandwich out there that makes you feel like a shut-in while eating it.
If you do have the stamina to finish one, you may be surprised by some new found powers. I have no idea what they put in these things, but I discovered that not only could I see through walls, but also through time and space. Now, it's entirely possible I was just hallucinating, but I swear I had a conversation about The Partridge Family with a dinosaur-riding Napoleon Bonapart. We both agreed that even back in 1968, it was obvious that Danny was clearly a douchebag in the making.
One thing I do want to know, and I'm looking at you McDonalds Corporation: what the hell happened to your fries? When I was a kid, your fries were the be-all-end-all when it came to deep fried spuds. Now, maybe it's because I'm older, my tastes have matured, I no longer eat play-dough, who knows? But, man, your fries suck now. I always thought it was pretty hard to screw up something as easy as a french fry, but clearly I was wrong. Seriously, I've bitten into pencils that were tastier and more forgiving.
McRib. You, my friend, are a sauce-covered colon bomb. You finish one of these, and all you hear is the Mission: Impossible theme in your head. Whatever you do, make sure you are near a restroom. You know you only have a few minutes until detonation, so for the love of God, don't eat one of these while driving through the middle of Nebraska, unless you don't mind shitting in a ditch. When they say, "Availble for a limited time", they are not kidding.
Look, I'm no food-snob. There's a reason they keep bringing this thing back every couple of years. People obviously like them. Whatever floats your boat. If you like eating something that tastes like sadness, knock yourself out. I, however, think I'll take a pass. In only a few more weeks, the McRib will be put back in the vault until next time. But don't be depressed:
Only four months until Shamrock Shakes.