I'm Not Lovin' It
The most beautiful thing in Tokyo is McDonald's. The most beautiful thing in Stockholm is McDonald's. The most beautiful thing in Florence is McDonald's. Peking and Moscow don't have anything beautiful yet. —Andy Warhol
I guess I always felt even if the world came to an end, McDonald's would still be open. —Susan Beth Pfeffer
Above: Cloudy with a chance of Big Macs.
American life is all death, taxes, and McDonald’s.
These things are always there—sometimes in the foreground, other times the background. They lurk and they linger as pastoral backdrop.
This was once vibrant and joyful, like the smell of a freshly-opened ball pit or Pine-Sol streaked floors.
There was a romance to the dingy neon arches and scuffed plastic booths with cushioning that didn’t cushion.
No more.
When Uncle Sam looks in the mirror, I’m pretty sure he sees Ronald McDonald.
However, his clownish frown is not upside down.
All is not well.
I still remember…
When McDonald's was a treat, not a necessity.
When they sold poultry, not poison.
When meals came with toys, not indigestion.
When a burger was just a buck.
When minimum wage didn't mean maximum suffering.
As McDonald's goes, so goes the Nation.
Is it the death of the American Dream? The beginning of the American Nightmare?
What’s to say of these crumbling Golden Arches?
Not much, besides ba da ba ba nah.
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