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As a teenager, my sexual awakening happened like everyone else’s: in a McDonald’s.
I was 15 years old. My dad drove me to the McDonald’s on the way home from soccer practice. I ordered a Happy Meal, ignoring the children’s birthday party happening next to us. Then, in what felt like slow motion, I saw him. A man with hair the color of a traffic cone. A nose shaped like a tuber. Wider than he was tall. He lumped into that McDonald’s, opened his lipless mouth, and let out a high-pitched “Robble Robble,” but to my impressionable ears it sounded just like “I love you.”
Who was he? This chode of a man. “The Hamburglar,” they called him. He was approachable. He was cute. From that moment I decided: he could take hamburgers, money, my virginity, whatever.
Flash forward to May 6th, 2015. That same girl, now a VERY beautiful woman, sits at her computer. She has loved others, but none as pure as the one in that McDonald’s over a decade ago. She skims the web, searching for nothing yet everything. Suddenly, a Google alert sends her to a page where McDonald’s has revealed a new, more human-looking Hamburglar. Just as suddenly, her infatuation evaporates.
I’m shocked any executive looked at this new Hamburglar and thought he was more attractive than the original. Facial hair? A regular head? Every man has that. NOT every man has cheeks like cherries and ears that are the same size as his hands. His one loose, giant, central tooth. His visible stomach paunch. This new Hamburglar is as if they shaved Grimace’s whole body and gave him sculpted abs and skin. Who wants that? Certainly not me.
You can keep your new Hamburglar. I’ll stick with my Alfred E. Neuman/Cabbage Patch kid hybrid. Because… I’m still lovin’ it.
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