I’m no Bible scholar (see Bret), but I’m pretty sure that the manna that sustained the Israelites in the desert for forty years tasted like Chicken McNuggets. Additionally, I’m pretty sure that the food of the gods isn’t fruity jell-o in marshmallow fluff. Zeus and the rest couldn’t survive on such flimsy sustenance. Ambrosia, I have come to believe, was made entirely of Chicken McNuggets. It’s a little known fact that Vulcan had a bastard cousin: Jimbo, frycook to the gods.
The origins of the McNugget are not clear. It seems the Greeks first mention them in connection with the long-mysterious weapon, Greek fire. Seems Greek fire was created to perfect the crispy-chewy disparity we now all take for granted. They also found it could burn the hell out of Persians. McNuggets flourished in Greece throughout the Golden Age of Athens and were eventually absorbed into Roman culture.
Like the works of Plato and sewer systems, the McNugget was lost to civilization after the fall of the Roman Empire. And luckily, along with keeping invaluable copies of classic texts such as Aristophanes’ “The Birds”, medieval monks passed down the secret recipe for what we now know to be NcNuggets. Contrary to popular belief, the Renaissance didn’t end until Richard and Bernice McDonald opened up the first McDonalds Restaurant in 1948. Dick McD came upon a medieval manuscript while looting an Austrian castle after kickin’ some Kraut ass in WWII. And thank Heaven he did.
In ancient times, as now, McNuggets were a symbol of utopian society. Each nugget is the same golden brown color, yet the variety of bumps and crevices makes each one a phrenologist’s dream. The McNugget epitomizes individuality without prejudice. White meat? Dark meat? Can you tell? Does it matter? Yes, some say you can tell the meat type through the shape of the McNugget. Well I tell you, hogwash. Urban legend. Even with high powered spectrophotomachemometricrayscopes the difference is negligible.
While easting a chicken leg, do you ever wonder what the parapalegic chickens are doing? Are they happy? Are they allowed to play chess in the park? And what about while eating a chicken breasts? Breast-less chickens? Do they give them implants so when they see Maxim they don’t feel inadequate? Is that possible? No, not the chicken boob implant part, the other part. Well, I worry about all that stuff, but not when I savor the McNugget. I don’t have to. I know there is an even distribution of chicken parts in the McNugget. I am eating equal parts leg, breast, thigh, eye, beak, gizzard, and fleshy glove-shaped thing. That’s efficiency. Worry-free efficiency. Worry-free efficiency I can only get with a McNugget.
There is still much to be learned from McNuggets. I think if we all, every one of us (even those dirty vegetarians), if we all just dedicated a little bit more of ourselves to the ideals encapsulated in those golden brown, glistening morsels of heaven, we’d all be fatter. And happier, which is what I was getting at. Because look at Santa. He’s fat and happy. And that’s a winning combination.