Dear Stomach,

I’m so sorry I subjected you to McDonald’s tonight. I completely understand that I overstepped the boundaries. I cannot lessen my resistance over the last few months to the poisonous “meat” and supposed “potatoes” fried in yesteryear’s oil just to then turn around and pour that “food” down my gullet and expect you know what to do with it.

I took for granted the years and decades you dutifully processed this substance without question.

I will no longer surprise you with a Big Mac without warning or working up to such a feat. It was unfair and I totally deserve the rumbling trouble that is sure to come my way after my spontaneous lapse in judgement.

Next time i’ll pull over and gnaw on the van tire instead of driving through the Happy Meal factory.

Yours Truly,

Gullet Operator