jah-wee-bee

Blame it on commercialism. Blame it on food additives. Blame it on food psychology. Blame it on stress. Blame it on the poultry industry. Blame it on that stupid jingle.



I’m sick and tired of its color, its aroma, its deception.

But that’s just my moral, consciousness-stricken self – my physical, animalistic side still craves for it, no matter how hard I play blind against its trickery.

It’s like utopia – an idealistic paradise just within the reach of my vision. Whenever I step out of this workplace, I just look beyond the horizon and there it is – standing tall in front of me. A haven of burgers and fries and spicy chicken, waiting for me to rush in and submerge myself in a waterbed of olfactory and gustatory satisfaction. Inside, I’m like a kid in Disneyland, a thief in a deserted bank, or a pedophile inside a kindergarten classroom.

But it’s no joke – this has got to stop. One way or another. So help me God.