mcdonalds wet bird review

evidently some regard the wet bird in ire, but I struggle to imagine that the meat glue constructions of the remainder of the menu provide anything which the wet bird does not. homogenized muscle, connective tissue, bone, and fat will adhere together to form a new reality that enjoys it, but the wet bird falls out of this. it demands nothing.

one would expect the wet bird to be fearful, and through its many open eyelids it stares unwaveringly, but there is a serenity in its disheveledness. the bird does not stir except in the back of my mind, a feeling that it must know something that I do not.

unlike some, I do not decry the ruthlessly optimized decadence of a big mac. would I eat it? no, but that’s another matter. likewise, the wet bird is not of an idyllic austere past. the wet bird refuses to be enveloped into such simplistic views of itself. it would eat small scraps of it with voracity.

what’s wrong is not the bounty itself but where it comes from. it’s so horrifyingly and remarkably easy to live in this bounty. it’s not chosen but it is benefited from. I must eat but vastly more sympathetic are who I’m eating. how self indulgent would it be for me to writhe in this, and how callous it is for me to ignore it. but the bird reminds us of what we are able to and have the duty to control.

it may not be much at all. the bird epitomizes lack of agency. it has not known it in its life. it spends its days in a paper bag, its means of escape soaked through. one is tempted to think that agency could not exist and that we cannot aspire to it. but the bird knows that this idea is much like the paper bag.

how cruel and fitting is it for you to peer into the bag and exclaim your subverted desires, as if the bird wants to be there either.

qualities fall away to quantities. how is one piece of meat any more meaningful than another? the wet bird sits still like a well-behaved menu item, utterly fungible. whatever its aspirations may be is immaterial. the wet bird is only the wet bird, but the person holding the bag is more than that. but, oh, surely would it be petty for you to be in the bag and the wet bird to order you from the menu. this is wrong. this wouldn’t change anything. you feel the urge to lecture the bird about this.

the holder of the bag feels eagle-eyed, rising above everything. they are uninvested in the situation, unconcerned, unwretched. whatever happens will ultimately be inconsequential to them. the holder of the bag is free to fixate on whatever blood and bone emulsion will most satiate their stomach or sense of self, what it is to consume which is most amusing and most virtuous.

you may now be growing impatient and wish to know the answer to the simple question, do I enjoy the wet bird?

yes, of course I do. 8.5/10