I entered your McDonalds chain yesterday afternoon with a heart full of hope and my eyes glistening with happiness. Happiness that would soon be as burned and blackened as your business’ french fries.
I ordered a small fry for the small fry that is my youngest son. After I gave him the fry packet he immediately and instinctively opened his mouth for the food deposit. That is when the screaming began. Every time I close my eyes all I can hear is his desperate chilling screams. The french fry was too fried, far too fried. It burnt my son’s precious little tongue and his previously untarnished innocence. What you did to him… cannot be undone. He hasn’t laughed since the incident.
And either have I. Who knows when I shall laugh again. What I do know is that the incident has interrupted my usual Tuesday pastimes which consist of writing death threats to the mayor and hate-mail to the president. I expect some kind of settlement for this incident. Until then, I shall suffer. Even writing this my throat begins to swell and breathing has become difficult. The screaming of my little fry haunts my genius mind, all because of your so called french fries.