We all Hate McDonalds

A nice Ad:




"I still hate them though." - Ade Rowbotham

Today I am sick. Sick in the body, sick in the mind... and now sick in the soul. My body I can heal with rest, sleep and hot whisky toddies. My mind is difficult to heal, it must be nurtured and cared for as a young newly germinated seedling if I am not to burn up and become more ashes left at the bottom of Advertising's relentless bonfire. My soul suffers a long sickness of surrounding. London. Such a rat-race as this exists in few places on Earth. The dizzy heights of modern society is to be found here, amongst the Fitness First rucksacks mounted on suited backs up close and uninvited; invading your personal space like rapists on the tube. A Noise so loud, a shout so meaningless. Here in this jungle of overworked lab-rats there is no silence to find your piece of mind. No space between the words to find subtlety or subtext. Here McDonalds owns everything and all signs point to a fast-food life style where the only winners are those who leave their morals behind and join the un-righteous march of progress.

McDonalds? McShit I say.. Fuck your French fries. I piss on your salad and excreta in your burger you tower of reconstituted waste dressed as lifestyle food. You may be able to afford nice advertising and crafty product photography however nothing you do can conceal in my burning, dull cow eyes the trickery, the burglary, the lies you spread; the lives you corrupt, the taste buds you fool the crimes against mastication committed through ignorance in your name. You want a piece of me? Then it is done - Kitchen knives at Dawn and we'll see who makes the better salad....