An Open Letter to McDonalds Monopoly

Open Letter to McDonalds Monopoly Game Inventor

Dear Sir or Madam:

Alright, I'll give it to you. You're a fucking marketing genius. Give us, the hardworking American middle class, the chance to win by doing something that is essential to survival (purchasing food) and we turn into some real suckers. I say we pretty liberally here. I mean me, in general.


Before this little game started (on October 2nd, not that I marked my calander), I wasn't really a connoisseur of Mcdonalds. Sure, I'll chow down on it after leaving Marty's and blame the shits on a hangover, but not so much during the day.



I was really on a toasted Italian sub kick for a while there. But you sucked me in.


From collecting little green game pieces that force me into buying shit (that gives me the shits) off of your menu that I'd never EVER buy (Hey, the fucking green shit burger with grease leaking out the sides has a monopoly piece on it! Give me that meal, and make it a fucking biggie size!), to getting to work and entering your little codes on the website, cursing my puny existence when I land on "income tax", or "Park Place" for the 80th time, all the way to the painful trips to the bathroom afterwards..


Yeah, I read the official rules of the game. I know my chances of winning are not too great --1 in 1,345,455,334…a girl can dream right? I mean my fucking Mcdonald's cup has a picture of a fatty on it saying, "Even small town girls can win big—what the fuck is that McDonalds?? But, I digress.


Everyday, I go there for breakfast & lunch thinking: "Today's gonna be the day I get to take a stroll on the fucking boardwalk."


WRONG.


I've even enlisted the help of a friend at work. Krank. She gives me her codes, like a loyal little puppy, makes the daily lunch run to the big golden arches, with my promise of splitting the winnings with her should I—pardon—WHEN I hit it big. So see what you've done, you've made me such a firm believer that I have someone else WHOLEHEARTEDLY believing I'm going to win.


You're fucking up my health Mcdonalds Monopoly. You're fucking up my work (how many shit breaks can you really take during the day on company time before someone starts thinking you've got a coke habit?), but mainly, you're fucking up my life, because I sure as hell can't buy that new bag until I get a Ventor Avenue.


Respectfully Yours,

SLT—Just another Small Town girl

Followup Letter to The Inventor of the McDonalds Monopoly Game:
(The End of an Era)

Dear Sir/Madam:

It's me again, motherfucker!

Yesterday, your stupid little game ended declaring winners all across the United States, hell--the world for that matter.

Unfortunately, I was not included in that group of people, and you know what, that's fine with me McDonalds.


I was like the faithful girlfriend, coming to see you everyday, cutting time out of my busy schedule to make time for YOU, always remaining loyal to you and your nutritious menu.. and what fucking thanks do I get.




It's gonna take weeks for my bowels to return to normal, and I'm sure Krank will attest to that. The other day, you made my butt bleed! Yeah, that's right, Mcdonalds! You bastard! I've had a Bic Pen shoved in there, but you made me BLEED! I sacrificed my health to try to win, even at best, a $250 gift card from Amex, and what do you give me.. a free McFlurry? $1.00 off my purchase from Foot Locker? (Lord knows I need some new Air Jordans, I'm a REGULAR at Foot Locker, and that dollar is really going to help make Christmas this year, you bastard shit)




Good riddance, Monopoly. I hope they don't bring you back next year, because I have no self control, and I REALLY can't afford to do this again.