The New Super Size -- a Love Note to Fast Food

Us coyotes were scuttling down a back alley this morning when the geospatial sensory flow (okay, the smell of hot grease...) prompted memories of the last time we hit a Mickey D's.

Good times!

Chucking limp fries at the Dwarf, making rude blooping noises in the pop with our straws, and dancing to the beat of the hapless counterperson's rotebot drone. You know, the one who asks each customer who's already ordered fries -- because asking "Dooya wan' frieswiddat? would be redundant, but The Corporation demands that its serfs squeeze out ever more profit from that order -- "Can I soopersize datforya?"

You know if s/he doesn't say it, the poor shnook is going to get docked either brownie points in that fast-track Management Training Program with the great polyester uniform, or, worse, some of their minimum wage. The Corp demands loyalty. Although sadly, Morgan Spurlock's famously surreal little opus has kind of satirized that particular tagline into perdition.

For reasons best known to my amydogdala, I wondered how to help Big Fast Food. I mean, look at it. It's obviously going broke. It needs a new "super". But what will that be? Like, what's bigger 'n super?

I guess you could ask, "Can I Mega Size that for you?" But mega is so last-century. Everything is mega already. So not that. Then I started to wonder what the meta-analysis on this would reveal. This blog was, after all, a metablog at one point in the distant, sunny past. The Irregulars specialized in this kind of crap.

The answer struck me the way the bottom wires of electric fences hit certain carelessly wagging tails: "Can I Metasta Size that for you?"

You're welcome, Fast Food Industry... you know where to send the love and royalty cheques. We hear Canada Post isn't interested in delivering mail anymore, so use E-transfers. We're here, waiting for 'em pour in. Much like overdiluted cola syrup.