CHEESEBURGER STABBING

Without question, that’s a pretty alarming headline.

But, let’s start with the good news. The good news is, a cheeseburger didn’t stab anyone. I repeat: no one was stabbed by a cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are still safe to eat, folks. Chances of being stabbed by a cheeseburger while you go to bite it remain at the incredibly low rate of zero-out-of-one-hundred. Cheeseburgers are not rising up against us, threatening the global order. They have not grown arms, hands, and opposable thumbs with which to yield sharp objects. Humans retain the title of World Heavyweight Champions of the Food Chain.

Also sort of good news and a point of clarification: No one stabbed a cheeseburger. That’s right – according to my research, every encounter between a cheeseburger and a human being has ended in a straightforward, although sometimes mindlessly mechanical, sometimes overly ecstatic, consumption. Nothing weird. No senseless cheeseburger violence or cheeseburger hate crimes. Humans and cheeseburgers seem to be getting along fine, as the Good Lord intended. And while there are some reports of men discussing marriage to a cheeseburger, these thoughts all appear to be hyperbolic in nature.

Which brings us to the bad news: Someone was stabbed over a cheeseburger. More particularly, the absence of one. On first thought, anyone could be forgiven their shock and outrage at this news. But before you get all self-righteous, maybe you should think about some of the delicious cheeseburgers you’ve had over the years. I mean, really think about them. Turn those memories over in that gut of yours. Savor them, if you will. There have been some pretty good ones, huh? That one at three in the morning after bar-hopping for five hours with your buddy, Jerry? At the time, you called it, and I quote, “life-saving.”

Now, what if someone ate one right in front of you while taunting you in regard to your own lack of a cheeseburger? If you and that person could just as easily have been eating cheeseburgers together, or even sharing the same cheeseburger, and yet they put you in your place, your sad cheeseburger-less place – is that not its own outrage?

Are you really above confrontation? What lengths would you consider? If you were really, really hungry in that moment, could you even make a rational decision? What line would you, could you, draw?

Imagine: your head begins to ache. You hear the growl of your stomach. Your vision tunnels straight to the cheeseburger, everything beyond it a blur. Suddenly, there’s a butcher knife in your hand – how’d that get there? The other person’s chewing grows louder and louder, ringing in your ears, drowning out the voice of reason. The crunch of bacon, of lettuce – it’s deafening. In the heat of the moment, it’s practically instinctual. Territorial.  Cheeseburger territory. Could you refrain from gripping tight that knife and cleaving your all-due half? Fighting, maiming if you had to?

My God, I hope you never have to be in this poor, young man’s shoes to find the terrifying answers.

And what kind of mother doesn’t bring her child a cheeseburger? This family’s doomed.

To Be, Or Not to Be (A Cheeseburger), That May or May Not Be the Question

This guy looks pretty happy being a cheeseburger.

I bet I’d be happy if I was a cheeseburger.

The life of a cheeseburger is probably pretty great.  You’re delicious, and you know it.  People desire you, and they know it.

Cheeseburgers never have to worry about money, or time management, or if the thoughts in their cheeseburger hearts come out exactly as they intend from their cheeseburger mouths.

Plus, cheeseburgers don’t have to work – ever.  They don’t have debt and don’t get frustrated calculating interest on repayment plans.  Have you ever seen a cheeseburger crunching numbers?  I haven’t.

They don’t grow bitter over never using their degrees from Cheeseburger College.  Cheeseburger parents are never disappointed when lil’ Whopper Jr. announces his theater arts and journalism double-major, because they’re fucking cheeseburgers and they do what they want.

Furthermore, you’re really famous, especially in the United States, where cheeseburgers are so important you get your own king, like you were a country or something (The Cheeseburger Confederacy).  Idols are made of you and distributed to children as pro-cheeseburger propaganda.  Entire teams of the world’s best in marketing and advertising constantly advocate for your existence, allowing you to relax and just do cheeseburger stuff all day.

There’s talk of replacing Benjamin Franklin with a fatass cheeseburger on the hundred dollar bill, with the bill’s slang name evolving appropriately to “cheeseburgers.”

Sure, there are obstacles.  A big one that comes to mind is, you know, being eaten.  You’re literally torn apart bun from burger by big gross mouths, straight up murdered by a ruthless gang of teeth.  But, it’s a very noble death.  A lot of people die FROM eating cheeseburgers.  You get to die AS a cheeseburger.  That’s a big difference, and most of the time you’re contributing to death’s very opposite – life.  You’re a martyr to the noble cause of delicious gratification, a surefire ticket to Cheeseburger heaven, where you’ll be reunited with your loving French fry and soft drink family.

Or, if you were a dirty, no good cheeseburger, perhaps you’ll be reincarnated as racist taco guy:

Unlike cheeseburger guy, notice that taco guy doesn’t get to maintain his human genitalia, only one of many downsides if you’re keeping score at home.

Actual product description from Amazon:

“You don’t have to drive across town to get your favorite Mexican food with this taco costume! The adult costume consists of a poly foam taco suit that has the appearance of a hard shell taco. It comes complete with toppings including lettuce, sauce and cheese. The suit has holes for the head and arms as well as an open bottom for easy movement. You’ll look good enough to eat in this funny taco costume!”

“An open bottom for easy movement” – that sounds dirty to me.