McDonald's, the molded plastic king of America's molded plastic cuisine, has decided that money will no longer suffice to purchase its meager offerings; the company now demands that you degrade yourself in order to be fed.
Perhaps you saw McDonald's Super Bowl ad last night. (If you did not, bless you.) In it, the $90 billion corporation films unsuspecting customers being told that no, they may not purchase their McDonald's food for money—instead, they must commit on-camera acts of schmaltz in order to feed the marketing needs of the McDonald's corporation. The price of breakfast? "Dial up your mom, tell her that you love her." The price of a snack? "Telling me what you love about your son." The price of a Happy Meal? "One big family hug." The price of a strawberry sundae? "Dance right now."
To be clear: normal, presumably middle or lower class Americans seeking cheap food are made to grovel and put their most tender family dynamics on public display for use in a $4.5 million commercial that will benefit a $90 billion food corporation that operates solely for its own profit. The consumers in question are rewarded with McDonald's food costing well under $10. This on-camera transaction is meant to demonstrate the affinity for human love that a company that pays its employees poverty-level wages holds in its nonexistent heart.
On top of that, the McDonald's corporation and its vast and well-paid marketing brain trust presume that you, the consumer, will gladly follow in the footsteps of these poor Super Bowl ad victims. They promise to randomly offer McDonald's customers everywhere the chance to degradingly parade their most intimate feelings for their family members around in a McDonald's lobby in exchange for a few dollars worth of unhealthy fast food. If I had the temerity of the McDonald's corporation when it comes to advising Americans how to properly display their emotions, I would recommend that any customer asked to "Dial up your mom" instead call McDonald's corporate headquarters at 630-623-3000 and inform them of your deep disgust with their cynical marketing ploy, and of your intention to never again patronize their restaurants—which, as a former McDonald's employee, I assure you are staffed by underpaid workers all too ready to spit in your food at the slightest provocation.
Dial up your mom, motherfuckers.