Joe Mariani

I Need Liberal Assistance, Now!
July 2, 2003

Caution: This article contains concentrated sarcasm, which may cause children to pass out, and strong adults to weep.

This evening, as I was seeking a light, healthy meal to eat, I was accosted outside a local fast- food restaurant by no less a person than Ronald McDonald himself. Ronald leaped out from behind a plastic purple Grimace and shoved a gun in my ribs. "What the hell?" I gasped. "Shut up!" Ronald snarled, his clown-face twisted in anger under his bright red hair. "Get inside! Now!" he ordered as he pushed me towards the McDonald's door. I had no choice but to comply.

Once inside, Ronald urged me towards the counter with sharp jabs of his gun, which I now noticed was a chromed Colt .32 automatic with mother-of- pearl grips, in my side. "Damn, I always figured you for a pimp gun," I said disgustedly. But he didn't rise to the bait, entertainment professional that he is. He pulled out my wallet and tossed it to the counterperson, a bored- looking teenage girl. She opened it and pulled out a $10, then said to me "Is this all? Jeez." "What are you doing?" I yelled. "Call the cops, for crying out loud!" She just popped her gum at me and rolled her eyes. The gesture probably conveyed some complex message, but I didn't get it.

Ronald ordered me a Big Mac, an order of fries, an apple pie and a chocolate milkshake. He forced me with urgent gestures of the gun to bring the tray to a table, then stood watching as I squeezed into the plastic booth. "Eat it!" he demanded. "Why? Why are you doing this?" I asked him. His eyes blazed with anger, and he raised to gun to point at my face. Having no choice, I began to eat.

As I did so, I could feel my will to resist draining away. Without any volition of my own, I devoured the greasy cheeseburger, savored the special sauce, crunched the salty fries, and slurped down the chalky chocolate milkshake. Ronald McDonald watched my every move, his eyes glittering with malice. As I began helplessly to eat the sugary pie, his glare relaxed to a grin.

"You want to know why I forced you to eat McDonald's food? The truth is, I have taken your willpower, your freedom, your power of decision, and your ability to decide for yourself. You would never have come in here on your own and eaten my food if I didn't force you to! Now you're MINE! I OWN you! Hahahahaha..." Hiding the cheap-looking pistol in a pocket of his bright yellow jumpsuit, he got up and left, big red shoes flopping, probably to hijack another hapless pedestrian's willpower and force him or her to eat his lousy food.

So now I find myself in dire need of the Liberals' help. I ate McDonald's food because I was forced to, and now all that artery-clogging fat is coursing through my bloodstream just looking for a place to lodge where it can cause a heart attack. I wasn't given any choices; I wasn't allowed to go to a different restaurant or even choose a salad instead of a greasy burger. I can't be held responsible for the damage Ronald McDonald and his cheap pimp gun forced me to do to my body, can I? I'm just a helpless victim, and I need to sue that clown for forcing me to eat his food!

'Cause I need more money to go back for breakfast tomorrow.


Email Joe Mariani: CavalierX@yahoo.com

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