Adults who spend time with children, you know exactly what I mean. The chicken nugget, that quasi-protein, is an integral part of your existence whether you like it or not.
The meat itself is literally: assholes, beaks, endocrine glands and toenails.
Whole. Animal. Cooking. Boom.
Luckily the proliferation of this amalgamated flesh isn’t our fault; Is It?
I find it convenient to blame McDonald’s. Not myself.
It’s a place kids want to go all the $%*#ing time. And periodically we give in because those little con-artists are persuasive.
To be clear, the children do not like the food. Their innate poison detection triggers when the scent hits their olfactory nerves. They go to get toys. The End.
But we’ve been raised not to waste food. We’re strapped with the genetic imperative to provide sustenance to the immature DNA hosts of our species. The de facto result of all this is an adult threatening to take away everything a child has ever loved unless he hurries up and finishes his fucking nuggets.
That’s how serious this is.
Those of you who don’t deal with kids, spy on an adult feeding a child at Burger King or Wendy’s. The fervor and zeal used to articulate the simple phrase- take a bite- will give you chills. And do you want to know why?
Because feeding a kid processed food feels like shit and you want to get it over with as fast as you can. Please just choke down that asshole nugget, so I don’t have to suffer anymore. Please.
Now some of you may be thinking: Tell the nugget to go fuck itself and move on. It’s not the boss of you.
But it is the boss. The nugget takes care of the whole neighborhood and demands respect. If it had a ring, you’d have to kiss it.
Got a room full of clawing, screaming children? Toss a few nuggets on a cookie sheet and they’ll be folding laundry and organizing tax receipts within fifteen minutes.
For some reason even the kid who is allergic to EVERYTHING can eat the nugget.
By this point it may have occurred to you that the chicken nugget is both the favorite and least favorite food of all children in the universe FOREVER. And guess what? You’d be fucking right. Sometimes it’s your savior, moments later it’ll kick you in the crotch. That is the crux of the nugget voodoo.
Now let’s say, for example, you’re out at any restaurant in America, the chicken nugget will be there too- sitting at your table like it owns the place. And you’ll let it stay because all you want to do is enjoy your GD cobb salad for five seconds without someone asking for another freakin thing.
What makes the nugget a true monster is what it does to a tired, child-battered adult. It’s in those moments when you’re weakest that it beckons to you personally and promises to make things all better. “Just eat me. You can workout tomorrow,” it whispers.
And you’ll believe it every time.