Grimace, that purple asshole
“I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.” — Helen Keller
Words have power. My ability to write gives me dominion over the lesser beings: my dog and my children are wholly under my control due to my mastery of the human language. It’s a power whose immensity is only brightened under the public’s watchful glare. As a writer with a blog that has tens of views, I have a responsibility to help others, to warn my fellow dads of parenting threats and hot fall trends. As I write these words, I carry a heavy burden. Today, I shine the light on America’s forgotten son.
I am of course discussing Grimace, that purple sheep of the McDonald’s universe.
You know Grimace. You may have seen him walking in your neighborhood, lurking in the flickering shadows of streetside dumpster fires. Grimace looks like a piece of upside-down candy corn that has let itself go. His lumps stand proudly among his wiry, matted purple fur. During the 70’s, he proudly flaunted four separate arms, each of which undulated in an evocative, disturbing manner that was distinctly Grimace. Now he only has two arms, presumably eating the missing appendages to conform to society’s conventional beauty standards. Well here’s a newsflash, Grim: you ain’t making the cut in this month’s Vogue.
The McDonald’s Cinematic Universe is filled with flat characters with clearly defined roles. The Hamburglar steals hamburgers, and in several internet fan fictions, ham. Ronald McDonald is a clown that disappointed his parents. Even Mayor McCheese, corrupt as he may be, provided leadership to McDonaldland in an era of unprecedented gridlock. These are contributing members to society, people who define a role with intent and commit to it.
Grimace has no role in society. Sure, at one point he stole milkshakes with his four tentacle arms. But we already have a Hamburglar, and he does a damn good job. Grimace floats through life, expecting the world while giving nothing in return. He skates through on his looks, expecting to be appeased for reasons unknown. Can you name something that Grimace does that nobody else can provide? You can’t, and you know it.
In a way, we’re not so different. I sometimes feel as if I am going through the motions, unable to stake a role other than “dad.” What I do as a father is not respected by my children. Sure, I can take them all to McDonald’s for a night, but they abandon a nice dinner to go play in the ballpit. And I sit at that table, alone, staring into the simultaneously dead and ravenous eyes of Grimace. In this moment, I feel a deep connection, and the deep undercurrent of sadness that flows through him also flows through me. I am Grimace.
How did I get here? I am a monster just like he is. Do I have any discernible skills? Nobody respects me. Maybe if I gnawed off my arms, my wife would call me pretty again.
But after a good cry and a talk with my wife, I realize that I will never be as bad as he is. Though I have made mistakes, and though I am not a perfect man, I have a purpose. I am a stay at home dad who supports the internet economy. Yes, I even owns some Bitcoins. Grimace could never own Bitcoins. I bet he doesn’t even have a laptop. He probably has to resort to using the public computers at the Ronald H. McDonald Memorial Library.
We have all reached this fundamental truth, a sentiment shared in the hearts of the McDonald’s faithful that is never uttered. But today, I break the silence. Today, I speak.
Grimace is a giant purple turd.
🌟/🌟🌟🌟🌟
