If I ever decide to let myself go and become a giant fat-ass, I hope I have the cojones and patience to create an elaborate excuse for myself, like this dedicated whale of a man, Don Gorske, who consumed 23,000 Big Macs and kept the receipts.
FOND DU LAC, Wis. - A 54-year-old man says his obsessive-compulsive disorder drove him to eat 23,000 Big Macs in 36 years.
A fat person? In Wisconsin? Well now I've seen everything. My obsessive-compulsive disorder drives me to masturbate 30 times a day but you don't hear me contacting the local media outlets, and lets say that I started 10 years ago, that's 109,500 times! I've got those receipts too, but I'm not sure you'd want them. Anyway.
Fifty-four-year-old Don Gorske says he hit the milestone last month, continuing a pleasurable obsession that began May 17, 1972 when he got his first car.
What a weird thing to have spark your 36 year addiction. "Hey man, you just got a car? Let's fuckin' par-tayyyyy!!" "Well, how do you feel about having a ball pit and slides at said par-tay?" "Ummm... confused?"
Gorske has kept every burger receipt in a box. He says he was always fascinated with numbers, and watching McDonald's track its number of customers motivated him to track his own consumption.
You'd think something like personal health would motivate you to track your consumption of Big Macs, not an advertising gimmick. Yet here we are. I wonder if he's fascinated by the number on his scale. But so, let's get into those numbers. 36 years. That's 13,140 days. That's almost 10,000 extra Big Macs, meaning this fucker has eaten nearly two a day every day for 36 years. If I eat one Bic Mac over the next 36 years I'll feel disgusting. I wonder, with the OCD and all, how come not the even number per day? What could have kept him from enjoying this delicious treat?
The only day he skipped a Big Mac was the day his mother died, to respect her request.
Imagine this poor old woman, on her death bed. Last breaths, trying to pass on wisdom to her beloved son. But no, instead she has to beg him with her dying breath not to be a fucking fat shit for just one goddamn day in his life. That poor woman. And he begrudgingly respects this request, only does so to the letter, so that the day after his mother has died he is back under those Golden arches chowing down the only thing that can console his obsessive-compulsive grief. Somewhere in Wisconsin a very skinny corpse must look like an underground centrifuge.
The correctional-institution employee says he doesn't care when people call his Big Mac obsession crazy. He says he's in love with the burgers, which are the highlights of his days.
See, I'd call him being in love with the burgers crazy, but then again, I've never had sex with cooked ground beef. I imagine him working in his prison, with some lifer shouting from his cell "I'm going to kill you, you fucking fat shit, and your little burger too!!!" And then Mr. Gorske quietly weeps and strokes his burger while whispering gently, "I want you inside me".
Update: It sucks, what a little research can do.
Don Gorske: Not Fat. :(
Still though, fuck him in his stupid hippy face.
He proposed to his wife Mary, in his favorite McDonald's parking lot.
Don Gorske also records when and where he eats his Big Macs in a notebook that he carries with him all of the time.
Someone steal that book and slit that man's ankles.