It started this Saturday at lunchtime. The memory is so vivid that it’s like my brain has encased it in amber. I was heating up some leftovers in the microwave, peacefully minding my own business like all members of polite society do on the weekend, when I caught myself softly mumbling the song from the McDonald’s Fish McBites commercial. “Fishy McBites, McBites. Fishy McBites, McBites. Fish-ay Fish-AY.” I immediately recoiled in horror, as though a psychopath had just confessed that he drugged me the night before and allowed a number of wild animals to sodomize my lifeless body. I tried to shake it off and eat my reheated pasta, but it wasn’t meant to be. The song had penetrated my subconscious.
That was five days ago. The song is still stuck in my head. Five days.
For those of you who have somehow managed to avoid this nightmare-inducing earworm, I have posted the commercial below. DO NOT WATCH IT. I can’t stress that strongly enough. I am only including it so you believe me that it exists. If you click play, you will hear those demonic fish in the banner picture repeat the lyrics I quoted above, and then you will find yourself in my predicament. You know how in zombie or vampire movies there’s always a character who has been infected or bitten, and as he is starting to turn into a monster he urges his loved ones to flee before they suffer the same fate? That’s what I’m doing here. It’s too late for me. I’m a goner. But there’s still hope for you. RUN.
The situation finally came to a head for me last night, when I snapped and tweeted this, cruelly forcing my personal hell on my followers. Make no mistake, this wasn’t a lighthearted attempt at humor. This was a cry for help. I am a sad, broken man, and this song is almost entirely to blame. Something must be done. Soon. Fish-ay fish-AY.
And so, allow me to make this public plea to the people at McDonald’s: Put an end to this commercial. Take it off the air, burn the footage, take a sledgehammer to the hard drive it’s stored on, and shoot the people responsible for it. Please. I’m begging you. Otherwise I will be forced to round up my fellow tortured souls — there are many, I assure you — and rain destruction upon your entire enterprise. This is not a threat. This is a promise. We will march under flags with giant mutilated fish on them, and we will bring your empire to its knees, or else we will die trying. This is no way to live anyway.