"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."


Why O.J. Simpson Is Wholly Responsible for my Unnatural Aversion to Chicken McNuggets

The day of the OJ Simpson trial, my mother was quite entranced with the TV broadcast of it, and I, not having the same criminal justice fixation, was not. I really just wanted to have a Happy Meal and pitched a fit until my mother agreed to go to McDonald's. She doesn't particularly like doing things for me, like feeding me, that make her a Nice Mom when she could be watching a murder trial, though, so the moment I got my nice little Happy Meal she barked: "Eat fast." So I did, and I vomitted all over the shiny surface of our plastic table booth and I've never stuck a Chicken McNugget in my mouth since. So, Mr. Simpson, don't you feel guilty for robbing me of my simple pleasure of Chicken McNuggets? Do ya? Huh?

Sometimes, I worry myself.


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