Depressed After Condi, I Treat Myself to Dinner Out

Having nothing else to do, I secured transport after work to McDonald's for my evening repast. I do not eat McDonald's nearly as much as a should, I decided on the way, since for a poor person it is a fine way to meet one's caloric goals for the weekend. The truth is that I've lost a lot of weight since Condi's testimony--I'm afraid it didn't go half as badly as I had hoped--and most of what's left to lose is bone marrow, skeletal features by now. Also, I frequently romanticize McDonald's as a source of future employment, if my faith-based trend of social climbing downward is ever going to pay off. So I go from time to time, just to invigorate my sense of purpose.

The last time I visited McDonald's, American forces in Iraq had only recently gained control of Baghdad. Chief White House spokesperson Ari Fleischer oozed about the "unquenchable" taste of freedom, which reminded me of the daydreams I once had in 6th grade about Chicken McNuggets. It was newly warm in South Philly, and patriotism was just a sports-bra away from something I could feel genuinely good about. Tragically, my rabidly partisan hatred for our president spoiled my sharing in the experience. But nothing spoils a two-cheeseburger extra-value meal, or the solid mass it becomes in the daily Baghdad of the digestive track.