There are those who call me a “hamburglar.” It is their trite, pithy way to diminish me as a person. I am but a lowly hamburglar to the stuffed shirts who run McDonaldland. It is part of their ongoing plan to placate the masses and keep the Fry Guys and McNugget Buddies of the world at bay. Mayor McCheese sits in his ivory tower, ruling us all with an iron fist. Others may be willing to sit idly by, and let ourselves be crushed by this cheeseburger menace, but I am not one of these people.
Do I burgle hamburgers? I would be lying if I said I didn’t. I have indeed dedicated much of my life to trying to steal hamburgers. However, has anybody ever stopped to ask why I do this? No. Instead Ronald McDonald and others like him, the mouthpiece of the oppressive McDonaldland government, paints me as some sort of menace. In truth, I find myself to be more of a modern Robin Hood. These fat cats sit around, chowing down on hamburgers like there is no tomorrow. What about the rest of us?
Sure, there are singing trash cans that can, as they will surely remind you, eat your trash. I cannot eat your trash. It will not sustain me. I need hamburgers. Hamburgers to live.
There are no real jobs here in McDonaldland. Not unless you’re one of Mayor McCheese’s cronies. Seriously, who here has a job, save for McCheese’s hatchetman Officer Big Mac, whose wrath I have felt on many occasions? We’d be better off living under the monarchial reign of the Burger King. At least there they have no pretensions of living in a democratic society. If I want to eat, I must steal. I have devoted my life to this craft, because there was no choice left for me. I burgle hams for survival, and as a middle finger to the bigwigs who would rather see me, and my brethren, die in the gutter than let us simply have some hamburgers.
I will never give up. I will never be deterred. They may have stopped Grimace from being evil, and isn’t it curious how he’s fallen in line now that Uncle O’Grimacey has disappeared. But I will not be so easily swayed. They have nothing to take away from me. To coin a phrase: When you ain’t got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. I’ve seen them kill the Griddler. I’ve seen Captain Crook, my mentor and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family, hanged in the street for having the temerity to steal Filet-O-Fish sandwiches, which nobody even wants to eat anyway. Someday, I, too, may die at the hands of Mayor McCheese and his brutal regime, but somebody else will just take my place.
Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. And stealing hamburgers. I am a hamburglar, and this is my manifesto. You may stop me, but you can’t stop us all.
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