Fi Fye Fast Food Foe

*Can’t believe I’d forgotten about this thing. Originally written in 2012, as requested in the visceral style of UK comedian, writer and presenter Charlie Brooker. I advise against reading if you’re fond of fast food and have a delicate sensibility.


If the price of a healthy diet comes up to more than 99p, you’d want fries with that.

As we burst onto the scene of 2014 with all the grace and fortitude of a particularly self-conscious walrus with a bad case of dysentery, I insist we must brace our metaphorical belts and consider our diet.

In today’s society, we’re very much told by every perspective how we should appear and that yes, we should care.If the slightest tickle of wind does not threaten to blow you all the way to Oz, and you’re not being mistaken for a cardboard cut-out, then clearly you should immediately consult the newest dietry fad books: “How Sand Paper Made Me Thin” and “Wood Shavings Can Fool Your Stomach!” for just £26.99, thank you very much.

It is then of irony rich enough to cause heavy metal poisoning that we guzzle fast food with the only consideration being that it was quick and cheap!

Cheap for your wallet, expensive for the planet; that flaccid reconstruction of a cow’s anal ribbage, squashed between something that conjures up the vague impression of bread may have saved you a penny but costs the earth a portion of it’s rainforest the size of Wales each year.

So what? You didn’t plan to holiday in South America anytime soon. It’s no skin off your nose that the land taken is being used for cattle; you’re not subject to the smell of methane created by these walking patties. Oh, is it getting warm in here? I wouldn’t worry. Just help yourself to a Mcflurry, there’s a good consumer – you needn’t concern yourself with anything further afield than what you can shove down your gullet.

The maw of the western world is a hungry one and not particularly fussy. How convenient then that such pioneering do-gooders are here to cater to our every need. These fast food giants crop up overnight in our towns and cities like greasy growths on a crones backside, each one quivering in the enraptured glare of the public stomach.

Yes sir, yes sir, three bloated bags full sir.


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