Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

     I recently posted the following on Facebook. Don't worry, it's not family photos:      During war time, bombs get dropped; such is the nature of war. Tragically often, said bombs cause damage far beyond their intended targets. Such was the case one time, with a certain McDonald's, a bastion of unhealthy comfort food in a volatile area. Errant ordnance reduced this greasy palace to smoldering ruins, and it was small comfort that the debris-laden air smelled like french fries for hours afterwards. They say if you visit this site in the middle of the night, you will find a lone man there. He is a chubby fellow clad in black and white, an outfit that recalls old-timey prison garb. He sifts, heartbroken, through the charred remains. "Rubble, rubble," he sobs mournfully. "Rubble, rubble."      On the surface, this seems to be merely a strange joke, perhaps a bit long-winded considering how slight the punchline is. Yet it is also indicative o

The holidays are a spectacular time of year, a season where the chilly weather is counterbalanced by the warmth and cheer of spending time with our loved ones. I am a deeply compassionate man, though, and as a result such mirthful activities at times lead me to feel pangs of sadness for those among us who lack family and friends, who have fallen on hard times and who could probably use a little cheering up. Recently I decided to don my Santa hat and give the gift of conversation and whiskey to an old friend who has seen better days. You probably know Grimace from McDonald's long-running and moderately emotionally scarring ad campaign for children, wherein Grimace is one of the characters often seen frolicking among sentient food items. Like his compatriot The Hamburglar, Grimace was introduced in a villainous role during the early days of the ad campaign, but Grimace was quick to change his ways (and appearance) to become the cuddly amorphous blob we all know and...well, not love