I've put a lot of thought into this and I think the hubris of the evil Galactic Empire is best exemplified through the second Death Star, the one that was under construction in 1983's Return of the Jedi.
Yes, this is what I do in my spare time. Choke on it.
Think about it. The Battle of Yavin (where the first Death Star was destroyed - duh!) took place only a few short years before the debut (and subsequent destruction) of the second Death Star (Battle of Endor). With the Empire's defeat at Yavin, which, remember, was so very catastrophic and unexpected that Grand Moff Tarkin refused even considering evacuation AND where the only survivor of the roughly 1.5 million on-board escaped by accident, you would think that the Empire would have applied those "leassons-learned" to their super-weapon design in the future.
No sir. They just built a bigger mousetrap, because that was really the biggest problem with the first Death Star: it was about 7 times too small a target. And as everyone knows, a gigantic two meter exhaust vent was a little too excessive. I mean if an untrained farmboy could hit it with a proton torpedo well... So they decided to fix that by...wait a minute...they still had gigantic shafts that led through the superstructure of the space-station? Right to its volatile easily-explodable core? Big enough to fly freighters through?!? Aw for Pete's sake!
So the Empire just kept chugging along with nary a thought of changing course in spite of overwhelming evidence that it would be good to change everything about what went wrong before. Wait for it...
Hang on. It even kinda looks like the unfinished second Death Star. Weird.
I've been at it again. I should have known that once Meridth pointed out during the last debacle I had with the dreaded McZoo that I'd be better served if I had a McRib instead of mere bacon to represent pork, I'd have to try it again...this time at full magnitude! So there I was again, eyes resting upon those sundry cartons, each a small treasure chest of cardiac distress. Each taunting me, ever taunting!
They really forced my hand with this one. November was McRib month. For the first time in many years the McRib would be available nationwide (and I mean WIDE) at your local neighborhood McDonalds. It wasn't going to last though. Just a narrow window to squeeze my engorged body through to become one of the elite: a Full-on McZoo veteran.
So I engaged the target.
That photo says it all, the greasy discarded bread discs, still glistening with unholy nectar. I can't believe I'm finding myself here again. What is wrong with me?!? There has to be some support group for this...
So let's do the math: that's a 1/3 pound Angus burger at the bottom, then the McRib patty, a grilled chicken slab, and a Fillet-o-the-Fish on top. And a red onion. For flair. It may seem incongruous to the entire spirit of this ill-advised exercise to select the grilled chicken in lieu of its fried and breaded brethren. I admit, it's the road less traveled.
Fast-food and a Robert Frost reference. Who loves ya baby?
And brother, that made all the difference. Meridth asked me at half-time how it tasted and I was (and am) ashamed to say it's extraordinarily delicious. So much better than the McZoo I. I'm forced to conclude that it is because the Fillet-o-your-Fish and the southern-style fried chicken I had with the first McZoo simply overloaded the grease-center of the taste-bundle at the apex of my spinal column. (I looked it up on wikipedia.) This time around with the Fillet-o-Phish as the sole "breaded/fried" entrant, I got the blendation of greasy-beefy, sauced-an-mold-injected, faux-healthy and breaded/fried. It's all about balance, friend.
Yep, balance. It's the peak-level yoga position of meals, right there.
Am I going to hell for this? Maybe. Between all the factory-farm terror, the oppression of the hispanophonic McDonalds workers required to bring me the meal, the amount of exercise I will have to (and already have had to) do to purge my roller-coaster -ride of a body AND the remote possibility that some impressionable thing will read this blog-entry and foolishly try to emulate, or worse still, to top my absurd quest for gonzo-food creation...
Hey kids! Why not top your favorite pizza with MORE PIZZA?!?
...there's certainly a case to be made for my infernal eternal rest. That being said, I regret nothing.
And will never ever do this again.