Now, I'm no expert when it comes to serial killers, yet for some strange reason, they're all I can think of when I watch the new McDonald's chipotle chicken snack wrap commercial.
The star, a milquetoast blond male, tall and lanky, wearing colourless clothing that matches his pallid skin tone, sits down at a table in the restaurant and takes the first bite out of the fast food chain's newest offering: a saucy and spicy chipotle chicken wrap sandwich. This guy looks and acts like he's on his first solo outing, and I fully expect to see him check over both shoulders for his Mom before he chows down. On second thought, he was probably shoulder checking all the way from his front door to the restaurant, praying that his Mom had not seen him leave and that she wasn't following him now.
He takes the first bite, removes his glasses and tosses them away. This sandwich must be magical; his vision has returned to 20/20. Next, he flicks his stringy blond hair to fall across the other side of his greasy forehead and poke him in his other eye. He's such a rebel - the part in his hair now lies on the other side of his head.
Geeky and harmless looking in his beige jacket and corduroy pants with the pleats in the front, and the too short trouser legs revealing all of his high-top runners, he now stands in a shoe store, checking out the new Keds running shoes the manager has put in full view atop a display case; two pairs of them, one pair the colour of desert sand and the other pair red, the colour of blood. He buys the blood-red pair, puts them on and walks out of the store with a bounce in his step, spicy snack wrap in hand and a devil-may-care smirk on his face. He doesn't notice that the blood-red shoes are leaving a trail of blood-red footprints on the sidewalk behind him.
Farther along, a red neon sign in a storefront window catches his eye and he stops. He's standing in front of a tattoo parlour, mesmerized by the sign, unaware that the redness pulsating through the glass is exciting his brain to do unspeakable things. He'd have to look up the word 't a t t o o' in the homemade dictionary his Mom made for him when he got home; if he ever went back home ever again!... That last part made him gasp when he realized what he was thinking. He felt a sensation in the pit of his stomach he'd never felt before. He didn't know what it was or where it came from, but he didn't care, it felt good. He was delighted as the warm tingle grew stronger and spread throughout his body. He caught his own reflection in the tattoo shop's window and noticed a wide grin on his face. He was still holding the chipotle chicken snack wrap and the sauce was dripping into his jacket sleeve.
"Mom's gonna be pissed when she sees the mess I've made on my jacket." His snack wrap filled hand flew up to his mouth when it registered that he'd spoken this thought out loud, but then he snickered, and then giggled - loudly - when he also realized he'd said a bad word: 'pissed'. Good thing Mom wasn't within earshot or he'd have a mouth full of liquid dish soap right now, his Mom's favourite swear word deterrent. She'd reach for the bottle of Sunlight she kept by the kitchen sink whenever she caught him swearing. It took forever to rinse it all out and hours for the awful taste to go away. It was the worst when she got it in his eyes whenever he squirmed in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable.
This new-found freedom was going to his head and making him giddy. He tilted his head and let go a laugh into the sky; the sound he made was eerie, and it creeped out a young mother who happened to be walking by pushing her baby in a stroller. The poor kid screamed and started crying. The young mother was horror-stricken and couldn't get past him fast enough. The sound escaping his throat didn't bear any resemblance to a hearty, full-bellied laugh we'd all expect to hear issuing from a man who's just heard the funniest joke of his life. No, it was more like the sound you'd imagine coming from an inmate locked away for far too long in solitary confinement at the far end of a dank hallway - high-pitched and maniacal, a screeching fingernails down the chalk board kind of sound that makes one's skin crawl.
We catch up to our protagonist standing by a freshly poured section of sidewalk. Taking a bite of his magical sandwich, he bends down, puts his in the wet cement, stands up and walks away unnoticed, his last act of defiance caught on film. He's taken three nibbles of his snack wrap and there's more than half of it left. With each nibble of this hellish sandwich, his defiance and lack of respect for authority and social customs soars. It appears that he's gone 'ca-razee'.
Why hasn't his Mom caught up with him? Whose blood did he step in and track out of the shoe store? And what of the woman and child who saw him in front of the tattoo parlour? Where are they now?
The sound of wailing police sirens, ambulances, emergency response vehicles, and fire trucks waft on the evening currents. Milquetoast sits on a park bench, listening to it all. The took the last nibble of his snack wrap, licked the spicy sauce from his fingers and wiped his hands down the front of his pleated corduroy pants to get rid of the the rest of it. The heels of his blood red runners rested on the short grass in front of the bench. The soles were caked with bloody sand that he picked up when he stepped out of the pool of blood left by his sixth victim that day. He stepped over the lifeless body and crushed a sand castle a little kid had made and left behind on the sidewalk that ringed the playground. His blood red runners made a wet, squishing sound as he walked toward the park bench to rest up before he made the long walk home, where he hoped his Mom was waiting supper for him.
"I hope she made my favourite dish, fish sticks and french fries. It's the best when she cooks the fries in oil, but not when she bakes them. If I find out she baked the fries in the oven on the same pan as the fish sticks, I'll be mad. Mad enough to kill her... Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!"
Hilarious! LOVE it!
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