However, I didn't win. The contest isn't over yet, there are a few more days, but I've lost all hope. I only need one game piece in every category. I've had friends and family members in five different states gorging themselves on McDonald's and sending me game pieces, to no avail. I've entered all those codes online, even though those rat bastards only let you put in ten codes a day.
I really thought I was going to win it this year. After all of the smite God has bombarded me with, I honestly believed things would turn around. I went from be an eternal optimist (age 14) to an eternally optimistic pessimist (age 22). I hoped that by age 23 things would get better, and I have to eat every day anyway, so I figured why not win?
But it didn't happen. However, I learned a valuable lesson.
The stomach goes through stages of grief, much like people do when loved ones die.
Stage 1: Denial. At first, nothing was wrong. I knew all the McDonald's I was putting into my body was a bad idea, but physically I was feeling normal.
Stage 2: Anger. By the end of the first week, my stomach was screaming for mercy, angry that I would dare deny it real food.
Stage 3: Bargaining. My stomach would often make deals with me. "If you give me just one piece of broccoli, just one, I won't cramp so much. I promise."
Stage 4: Depression. I got really tired. To fill the spaces between school, work, and McDonald's, I slept. My stomach was depressed and rarely hungered for anything. Still, I continued to shove Big Macs down my gullet.
Stage 5: Acceptance. By the third week, my stomach calmed down and decided to just accept tjhe fact that it wasn't going to get real food until the contest was over.
Isn't that terribly interesting? Maybe I'll get a Nobel Prize for enlightening man-kind. Still, I envy Charlotte M, because she got her picture on the side of the cup. That cunt.
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