McDonald's Settles Case Over Nasty Food

cDonald’s Corp. has agreed to donate $10 million to consumer groups to settle lawsuits filed against the chain for mislabeling its food as fresh and tasty.

McDonald’s also posted an apology on its Web site, acknowledging that mistakes were made in communicating to customers about the edibility of its food. The worldwide chain has been selling burgers and sandwiches not suitable for adults since the early 1950’s.

“We sincerely apologize for any hardship or lousy meals that these miscommunications have caused among our billions of customers,� the company said in an apology posted June 1 on the Web site.

Seattle attorney Harish Bharti said Tuesday that a judge gave his tentative approval of the deal last month while bitterly chewing on a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. “This is McNasty,� the judge added.

McDonald’s spokeswoman Anna Rozenich said the money the company will be paying out will go to watchdog organizations that fight for truth in advertising and other issues linked to concerns raised by the consumers, including the poaching of endangered species and psychological trauma caused by life-sized ceramic clowns.

McDonald’s was first sued in Seattle last year by three customers who expected to be able to eat the Extra Value Meals they purchased at a Seattle-area McDonald’s restaurant, not realizing they were purchasing pet toys. The trend caught on, and lawsuits were subsequently filed in Illinois, California, New Jersey and Texas.

The lawsuits were filed on behalf of any customer who ate at a McDonald’s restaurant after 1971. That was the year the company first started showing adults eating McDonalds sandwiches in its ads and commercials, a feat considered impossible by many.

“Our slogan has long been, ‘Delivering the taste you’ve come to expect from McDonald’s’,� said Rozenich. “We still believe this to be a true statement. What that taste is has never been specified in a legal context.�

As part of the lawsuit, the consumer group Pants on Fire pushed to have McDonald’s slogan changed to the more accurate “Our fries are pretty good, but I’d stay away from anything claiming to contain meat,� which was turned down by the judge.

Pants on Fire first came into the public spotlight in 1996, when they sued to have Bank of America’s national slogan changed to “Fuck you and your piddling little checking account.�

McDonald’s customers nationwide reacted with joy at the news of the settlement. “It’s about fuckin’ time,� said Harvey McNeil of Des Plains, Iowa. “Look at that picture,� McNeil said, gesturing toward the menu, which pictured a succulent, juicy Big Mac sitting on a slab of marble next to a bushel of fresh tomatoes and lettuce. “Now look at this,� McNeil continued, opening his cardboard Big Mac container to reveal the pathetic, lopsided mess within. “It looks like somebody shit this out of a tube of Big Macs,� McNeil announced. “I’d take this back but they guy up there doesn’t speak any English.�

“The fast food industry is unique in that it has little accountability,� said attorney Bharti. “If you bought a toaster and found it to be malformed and unappealing inside the box, you’d take it back and demand a refund. The manufacturer could never stay in business. But fast food restaurants thrive on rushed customers and a reliably inept staff to prevent any kind of feedback loop that would hurt business. It’s an enviable racket.�

“McDonald’s listens to its customers and has vowed to make a change for the better,� claimed Rozenich with something close to a straight face. “This $10 million settlement is something McDonald’s takes very seriously, it will take us at least seven minutes to make that money back.�

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Greetings, commune readers. Rok Finger here, typing greetings to you from beautiful Rumney, New Hampshire. Feel free to register your surprise, disgust, or firearms—whichever is appropriate. It's understandable that based on comments made previously in this column by both yours truly and myself, one might have reasonably expected these words to be coming at you from sunny Memphis, Tennessee. And I'm just skylarking about the sunny part. For as my more astute readers may have guessed—I never went to Tennessee at all.

I was saved from such an embarrassing misstep on my first-ever annual pilgrimage to Graceland by resident commune know-it-all Griswald Dreck, who informed me that the Graceland of Elvis Presley toilet overdose fame and the Graceland of Paul Simon dancing with Chevy Chase fame are not, in fact, the same place. Needless to say, this was news to Rokwell T. Finger, much like the fate of Old Yeller. Leave it to Griswald Dreck to puncture two balloons with one needle and a story about a glue factory.

According to Dreck, the Paul Simon album I was so eager to experience in real-life form was in fact originally titled Gracieland, a reference to the New Hampshire shrine built in memory of George Burns' late wife. But thanks to an irreputable typesetter with a financial interest in Elvis memorabilia, Simon's message was forever obfuscated.

Now Rok Finger is no fool, and he, meaning me, unwittingly lines the pockets of no man. Unless that man is running a chain letter scam. Rok Finger may not be a fool, but he's even less a fan of bad luck chain letter voodoo. Scary stuff. But thanks to Griswald Dreck, noble American, some Deep South huckster claimed one fewer victim this week. Dreck was even nice enough to take the then-useless plane ticket to Memphis off my hands for twenty dollars American. And before you could say late purchase ticket surcharge, I was on my way to New Hampshire.

In a word, readers, Gracieland is everything I could have hoped for, and did. There are truly angels in the architecture. And that line about the roly-poly little bat-faced girl? No longer an impenetrable mystery. Suffice it to say that George Burns' late wife was not an Amazonian supermodel. Far be it from Rok Finger to hold that against her, however, especially seeing as I have played the troll under the bridge in over 30 elementary school productions of The Brothers Grimm without need of expensive makeup effects or costuming.

Though I had secretly hoped to view the stuffed cadaver of Chevy Chase on this trip, I leave feeling fully satisfied and, for once in my oft-disappointing life, fully on the "inside" of an juicy morsel of popular culture. I haven't felt this hip since discovering the hidden soft drink advertisement in Donovan's hit song Mellow Yellow back in the 1960's.

And more importantly, as with any good vacation, I was able to completely forget about the outside world for a time. Not literally, mind you, I didn't buy a house or ask to start getting my mail here or anything asinine along those lines. But except for the time spent at the public library typing this column and a few calls home to check on Lee and Camembert that were apparently misrouted to the head trauma ward of a veterinary hospital, the last week has been about nothing but Rok Finger getting in touch with Rok Finger. Some would say that altogether too much Rok Finger-touching went on, and that is a distinct possibility, but the late night programming made available on motel TV was utterly beyond my control.

I return home a wiser Rok Finger, and one who now owns more George & Gracie refrigerator magnets than he knows what to do with. I hope Camembert likes magnets, because I've easily got all his birthdays and Christmases covered for the rest of his natural life.

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Living with Camembert is like renting a room with a large bucket full of sadsack. What a crybaby! All he ever does is sit and mope, or sit and cry, or sit and do anything else. I forgive the sitting, him being in the wheelchair, but the depression has got to go. You don't live with Rok "Big Buzzin' Smile" Finger and wear a frown all the time. My middle name is Fun, the part that isn't "Big Buzzin' Smile," that's more of a self-proclaimed nickname.

In order to get Camembert out on the town and living the high life like yours truly, I'm presenting the first-ever-of-its-kind Rok Finger contest. This is not like my previous event, "Help Find the Boston Strangler," that was more of a police hunt. This is a real-deal contest. The winner, and there can be only one, wins an actual dream date with Camembert.

"What do I get out of this?" you may ask. Well, if you're a man, nothing, forget it, you're disqualified by reason of chromosomes, Camembert doesn't swing that way. And if he does swing that way, I'm not going to help raise his batting average. This applies only to 100% true blue females and anyone convincing enough to fool me.

When I say "Win A Dream Date With Camembert!" I do mean "dream date." And I mean Camembert, this is not one of those novelty contests where some celebrity Mel Gibson steps in to take the young lady out. I've got to get Camembert out of the apartment a night or two of the week or I'm going to kill him.

And by that I mean, what a charming young man! You've never met a gentleman like Camembert because they simply do not exist. You're talking the kind of charming prince like in fairy tales. Ladies, for the first time date a man without worry that he could at any time physically assault you or force you to have sex with him. Camembert would be lucky to kiss you without fainting. He's interested in your mind, and wants to know if he can have it when you're done with it. Camembert is no sex fiend, the very thought of sex makes him giggle and vomit, usually concurrently.

I suggest you run to your desk and take out your best stationery (no, the other one) and fill out two or three pages detailing why you should go out with Camembert. Please include a photo or two, if you can't fit in one, and let Camembert know why you're the stand-out cow in the herd. Please refrain from using foul language, it makes him cry. Yes, this is your chance to enter Rok Finger history and get a free dinner at Captain D's.

Don't worry, ladies, there's no losers here, except Camembert. Anyone who enters the contest will receive some sort of gift from Rok Finger as a thanks for trying. Now, I have neither the time nor budget to take every runner-up out to dinner myself, but I'll see to it you at least get oral sex or some form of make-up prize. That's the Rok Finger personal guarantee, and I guarantee that.

Please send all entries to the commune offices immediately with "ATTENTION: Oral Sex by Rok Finger" on the envelopes. Be warned, I understand the mail is pretty turbulent this time of year, especially for the overweight or unattractive, I can't assure every entry will reach us.

However, let's not forget why we're doing this: Camembert. Out of the house. Before I kill him. Thanks for entering, you'll be glad you did.

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