In the spirit of worldwide collaboration, I am imploring McDonald’s to reconsider the “McWhopper” overture.
By way of full page ads in The New York Times and Chicago Tribune, Burger King recently floated the idea of merging the ingredients in the chains’ most renowned burgers for a single day, in a parking lot halfway between an Atlanta Burger King and McDonald’s. The Sept. 21 event would coincide with the International Day of Peace. Get it? Stop fighting for a day and promote world civility by working together as one happy, harmonious burger chain. (Insert smiley face emoji here).
McDonald’s CEO, Steve Easterbrook, who oversees a company that ruined a perfectly tasty egg by slapping it between two maple syrup-drenched English muffins and dubbing it The McGriddle (insert puking man emoji here), swiftly rejected the proposal via Facebook. He hinted the two chains might someday work together in a “meaningful global effort,” but one questions whether that will come to fruition considering the snarky final line in Easterbrook’s response: “P.S. A simple phone call will do next time.” (Insert dagger emoji here).
Naturally, Easterbrook received plenty of negative feedback, via social media posts, for his decision. And why not? Americans have grown so weary of partisan bickering – from the halls of Congress to the increasingly biting war of words between cable and satellite providers – that we yearn for a day of peaceful accord, even if it means consuming a flame broiled Burger King patty smothered in McDonald’s special sauce. So, Easterbrook should reconsider. Better yet, he should ask all competing businesses, political parties, even entire countries to do the same on that one day. I’m already imagining how I could spend Sept. 21:
I roll out of bed and turn my TV to the “Good Morning Today” show where Robin Roberts and Matt Lauer catch me up on the latest headlines. Al Roker and Ginger Zee lock arms in front of a large weather map, using their remaining hands to point to thunderstorms in the Pacific Northwest and triple digit temperatures in Texas.
I jump in my Ford Camry and head to the local Dunkin-Bucks, where I’ll spend a few hours polishing my screenplay using the free Wi-Fi (password GrandeDonut1). If I start to nod off, I’ll revive by ordering a Mocha Frappuccino and two vanilla Long Johns with sprinkles.
Then it’s off to Tar-Mart for some shopping. Armed with one of those sturdy red Target shopping carts, pushed my way by a cheerful Wal-Mart greeter, I’ll purchase other food items that, like the McWhopper, have merged ingredients and titles: Jippy Peanut Butter, a case of Poca-Cola and Uncle Minute’s rice. There are home improvement projects on my weekend to-do list so, on the way home, I pull into the local Menard’s Depot for supplies.
Back home, I crack open an ice cold Coors-Weiser, turn on the TV and watch a live report showing the newly formed Republicrat Party unanimously passing every bill with minimal debate. President Obama and John Boehner celebrate by cooking hot dogs together at an open invitation barbecue on the White House lawn. Kanye West and Taylor Swift sing a duet while five Yankees and four Red Sox players form a softball team and take on another team consisting of Tom Brady and the Seattle Seahawks starting defense. Secretary of Defense Ashton Carter reports that all is quiet in the Afghani-raq region. Rush Limbaugh and Rachel Maddow embrace.
Before bed, I download the Trump/Clinton plan to better America and save it to my iKindle. I fight sleep knowing that tomorrow I’ll wake up to the same divisive world I’ve grown accustomed to. To console myself, I leap out of bed, drive downtown and purchase a McWhopper just before the stroke of midnight. I take a selfie of me eating the concoction and email it to Easterbrook, begging him to add it to the menu permanently, hence continuing this newfound spirit of peace, love and understanding. I lie awake the rest of the night hoping he’ll respond.
A simple phone call will do.
