The McRib sandwich will be ripped from our hands, and our hearts, on December 5, cruelly taken away by the McDonald's corporation.
Here is a poem I wrote to express my grief:
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Is it the bun or the barbecue sauce? Which every year makes me mourn the loss. I will miss your pre-formed patty, filled with what I hoped was meat, and how I always said, "There are worse things I could eat." You had 500 calories, 240 from fat, but I'm an American, so who cares about that? I ate you with fries, and sometimes a Coke, and the heartburn you gave me was far from a joke. You stained my favorite shirt, and the seat of my car, but you were my best friend whenever I left the bar. I wanted you forever, but you left really fast, like all of my boyfriends, you just didn't last. Your pickles were crisp, and your onions thick, all those who didn't love you can go suck a.......! Will you be back? I hope that you will. because I still have plenty of intestines to kill. I will drive past McDoo and try not to cry, because I have only a sticky box to remember you by.