I Love Food That Will Kill Me

I have not been shy about admitting I try strange food.  I find it my new mission in life here in Canada, ever since I was brave and stupid enough to try poutine.  So when I discover something I really love, I must share it.  And my friends, I have.  I have found the holy grail of crappy, bad for you, disgusting food that is so good I'm addicted.  Allow me, gentle readers, to introduce you to the McGangbang.

This is a thing of beauty.  And death.  And not mine, I eat mine before I can take a photo.

For those of you not in the know, there is a small subset of people who have taken it upon themselves to take pre-existing McDonalds food, combine the items, and create something new and frightening and possibly world-changing with them.  One is the Mc10:35, which is when you go to McDonalds at just the right time to get a McMuffin and a hamburger and eat them together as a single sandwich, as 10:35 is when they begin switching from sausages to hamburger patties.

But we are concerned with the McGangbang.  This is a complete Junior Chicken Sandwich inside an entire McDouble.  You make one of these jewels of humanity by ordering both and seperating the McDouble patties between the top and bottom bun and putting the chicken sandwich inside.  What you have, truthfully, is bliss.

Think of it this way.  Having your first McGangbang is like being left on a deserted island for three years with nothing but coconuts and spindly crabs to eat, and a cooler full of filet mignon and Godiva chocolates wash up on shore.  It's that good.  That world changing.

I've compiled a short list with which to state my case, and make everyone go out and get one of these marvels of industry.  Granted, most of these are just my opinion, but hell, it's my blog.

1.  The McGangbang is cheap.
All you need do to have this beautiful meal is order a McDouble and a Junior Chicken Sandwich from the value menu.  To get something this bad for you, you'd have to go spend five bucks or more at KFC for a Doubledown.  But even with Canadian pricing, the McGangbang is only 2.78.  When we can spend over thirty dollars for fast food with Mike involved, this is not something to be ignored.

The McGangbang costs exactly this much in the funny Canadian Monopoly-style money.  I refuse your two dollar coin!

2.  It should be disgusting, and it's delicious.
There is nothing about a chicken sandwich inside a double cheeseburger all from McDonalds that says it should taste good.  At all.  It says logically that it should be vomit-inducing.  Instead, this is one of the best fast food items I've ever tasted.  I honestly could get this once a week and be okay with it. 
3.  The McGangbang has a soporific effect.
No lie.  If you've got insomnia, get a McGangbang.  After eating one, you're going to feel like you just ran the New York Marathon while using barbituates, and will promptly get in a three hour nap on the couch while the cat uses you as a pillow.  And you will love it.
4.  You now belong to the McGangbang club.
Very few people are in on the idea that you can make new sandwiches out of the original McDonalds menu.  But you know.  You're in on it.  You are part of the a quiet little club that does unspeakable things that actually harms nobody.  Good job.
5.  The joy of ordering.
There is something about ordering the componants for a McGangbang that makes a little thrill of happiness go through you.  Because at some point you'll go up to the second window on the drivethru, and part of you is always hoping that you've found another kindred spirit in the McDonalds worker.  That you'll get a wink or a nod, some sign that whoever is handing you the brown paper bag of death knows what is going on with you.  And that alone is enough to make you less regretful when you're done.

I was going to add Oreos, but who am I kidding, Oreos are perfectly healthy for you.

So yeah, it's probably a bad idea to eat these more than semi-occasionally.  But it doesn't change that I am a woman obsessed.  Husband is going to try one with me on Friday.  Yes, I am spreading this infection.  Muah ha ha ha ha.

The Problem With Husbands

When it comes to the topic of husbands, I know that I have little room to talk.  I have found a wonderful man who treats me the way he would treat...well, let's not put a label on it shall we?  And I'm aware that my problem with Husband is very first world.  It's like having a fridge full of food and nothing to eat.  Or a closet full of clothing and nothing to wear.  He doesn't beat me, neglect me, or limit me in any way.  I don't wear a scarf when I go out in public unless it's fabulous and matches my attire.  And I don't have to have his permission to go out.  More often than not, he encourages it in a way that makes me feel a little like the cat when we lock her out of the bedroom.  Like I should be mewling at the door.

Let me innnnn!!  I know there's something good in there!

And somehow, that can kind of be the problem.  Husband can't just be satisfied with telling me that I'm the most beautiful, talented, lovely, gifted, and pale woman he knows.  No, Husband always has to encourage.  Suggest.  Continue talking when I desire him to shut the hell up.  It's more than a little irritating.

Take for example this previous weekend.  I was baking a cake and playing video games, and apparently I looked so happy that Husband could not just appreciate that I wasn't on his case for once.  Oh no.  He had to plop down next to me and have a conversation about it.

Me:  This was a great day.  I got to do two things I like all day long, bake cakes and play video games.
Husband:  That's great honey.  I wish I could make it last.  But then once a month you'd have to bake cake and play video games.
Me:  We're fat enough.
Husband: *no longer responding, just drifting in the ideal dream world where he gets cake once a month*

This is how I imagine regular cake time going eventually.

Usually, these conversations end with him figuring out some way for me to make him extra baked goods during the month, instead of on special occasions.  So here's another problem.  Aside from suggesting things, he has to encourage extra-curricular baking.  Not that I mind baking, it gives me great joy.  But what do I do once I start baking at all times? 

Special occasions are no longer special because I can make blue velvet cake any time.  Each holiday I would have to come up with something bigger and better, and before you know it, I'm making croquembouche on a random Thursday and the next time Thanksgiving rolls around (I have to celebrate that shit twice up here) my head explodes in messy morsels of grey matter and pastry dough.

This can change depending on which cereal we buy for the week.  Stepping on Cheerios HURTS.

As I said, husbands are a first world problem.  Especially for me.  And now I need to go to the grocery store.  Tiramisu doesn't magically make its self on a Wednesday.