The McWhopper is dead. And with it, the chance of peace. We at TBS have had enough – so we’re tabling a naked plea to stop the Burger Wars.
It pains me to see a petty, easily resolvable international conflict roll on. One that has been waged for as long as I can remember. A war, that seemingly, will now rage forever. August 26, 2015. A date which will live in infamy.
A day where the laurels of peace were squandered in favour of the grill flames of war:
The question is why the treaty failed.
Why? I don’t know.
I don’t know who knows. It’s a mystery, wrapped in a burger, wrapped in a wrapper, inside a “Please come again”. What I do know, however, is with the McWhopper peace treaty now off the menu, we must again choose sides.
And I shudder at that truth.
Why? Because I see it every day, in the dull eyes of friends and strangers alike, those who have grown weary of war, but have no choice but to be involved. Our empathy numbed by your multi-generational bombing of our senses, as you propagandise the small victories over the well-laid plans of the other.
But what is the actual unseen cost? Families have been torn asunder. Vast divides have been cast down the middle of households, for acting on our innocent humanist urges.
You harm your own too. Those who you pledged to nurture and advance, who have now turned victims, marching in cadence, chanting the backward identical mantra of: “Would you like fries with that?”, those who don the uniform and shoulder arms, who fight hand-to-hand, side-by-side in your tiled trenches, those who are forbidden to cease-fire, or question the reasons why.
Hungry Jack’s. McDonalds.
You are so similar in so many ways. Perhaps this is why you are blind to what we can see. In only looking for weaknesses, you miss what could be. The idea of the perfect enemy has taken hold, the awful truth may be that you need each other, for you know of nothing else. But, let me ask you this. Do you even know how it started? Who fired the first grill? Do you Does it matter to either of you anymore?
It matters to us; because we smelled something new.
But all that ended on the 26th of August, 2015.
Peace. It was so close. But one of you has spurned this, choosing pride over peace, disrespecting the olive branch extended by retreating to your familiar weapons of passive-aggressiveness. We don’t blame you. For you both act on what you have taught yourself to be. But there is another path, one of noble means and desires. One where everybody wins.
So, what kind of feast do we mean, and what kind of feast do we seek?
To quote KFC: “It’s Finger Lickin’ Good”
That’s what it should be about.
The licking of one’s digits. A peaceful taste race. Not a fight to the death, where two giants battle like greasy cornered beasts, thinking only of survival.
Your most basic common link is that you both inhibit our lives. You both cherish the Drive-Thru. You both add cheese. And we all hate you afterwards.
Mister McDonald, Mister King.
Tear down our Gastric Wall.