the FORBIDDENEST of loves
I don't remember how a group of friends eating mexican food turned into me musing about the forbidden love between the long-suffering Grimace and his tragically misguided beloved, the Hamburglar, but it did.
Just think about it-- Grimace once walked an equally criminal path, but learned to find satisfaction in being a law-abiding citizen of McDonaldland-- a faithful civic servant working with Ronald McDonald himself, no less! But the man he loves can't seem to face even the idea of living within the limits of the law, can't bear the idea of giving up his vigilante life. All they can have are stolen moments in the seedy motels on the outskirts of wholesome McDonaldland, moments of carnal pleasure forever marred by the knowledge that their union is destined to be torn asunder.
The cruelest irony of all, of course, is that Grimace's entire civic paycheck is paid in the same hamburgers that his darling so craves. Piles and piles of the same juicy treasures-- yet H.B. cannot be satisfied with the legal variety, due to some sad twist in his confused psyche. They taste of cardboard to him, they represent his failure as an outlaw-- capitulation. Grimace could provide for his lover, yes, but only at the cost of H.B.'s spirit, his irrepressible smile, his very soul.
So they meet only in a purgatory of their own making, stolen caresses and half-whispered words of passion, purple fur bright against the starkness of black and white stripes, red hair darkened with sweat, and Grimace's tortured, guttural moans.
H.B. inevitably leaves before dawn, heading off to the seedy warehouse district where he plans out his heists. Grimace always wakes alone in the morning, self-loathing and longing warring for dominance within his heart. As he showers, rinsing away the remnants of his greatest joy and greatest shame, he knows that he'll soon be heading into work, forcing a smile for Ronald, keeping his head down as kindly Mayor McCheese strides past.
"We missed you at the trampoline party last night, buddy!" Ronald will say brightly, happily. If he were asked, he would say he knows everything about Grimace that there is to know.
"I-- just. Needed a night off," Grimace will reply, quiet. Half hoping Ronald will notice that he seems different, somehow.
But Ronald never does.
"What should we have for lunch?" Ronald will ask instead, flipping through his fan mail.
Grimace wants to suggest anything new. Italian, Chinese, Indian. Sushi. Vegan risotto. Tacos.
But if he wants to keep H.B. safe, no one must ever guess. And so, "Burgers?" he offers, his voice quiet.
"Hooray!" Ronald crows, pumping his yellow-gloved fist in the air. He'll find out eventually, Grimace knows-- but today is not that day.
Just think about it-- Grimace once walked an equally criminal path, but learned to find satisfaction in being a law-abiding citizen of McDonaldland-- a faithful civic servant working with Ronald McDonald himself, no less! But the man he loves can't seem to face even the idea of living within the limits of the law, can't bear the idea of giving up his vigilante life. All they can have are stolen moments in the seedy motels on the outskirts of wholesome McDonaldland, moments of carnal pleasure forever marred by the knowledge that their union is destined to be torn asunder.
The cruelest irony of all, of course, is that Grimace's entire civic paycheck is paid in the same hamburgers that his darling so craves. Piles and piles of the same juicy treasures-- yet H.B. cannot be satisfied with the legal variety, due to some sad twist in his confused psyche. They taste of cardboard to him, they represent his failure as an outlaw-- capitulation. Grimace could provide for his lover, yes, but only at the cost of H.B.'s spirit, his irrepressible smile, his very soul.
So they meet only in a purgatory of their own making, stolen caresses and half-whispered words of passion, purple fur bright against the starkness of black and white stripes, red hair darkened with sweat, and Grimace's tortured, guttural moans.
H.B. inevitably leaves before dawn, heading off to the seedy warehouse district where he plans out his heists. Grimace always wakes alone in the morning, self-loathing and longing warring for dominance within his heart. As he showers, rinsing away the remnants of his greatest joy and greatest shame, he knows that he'll soon be heading into work, forcing a smile for Ronald, keeping his head down as kindly Mayor McCheese strides past.
"We missed you at the trampoline party last night, buddy!" Ronald will say brightly, happily. If he were asked, he would say he knows everything about Grimace that there is to know.
"I-- just. Needed a night off," Grimace will reply, quiet. Half hoping Ronald will notice that he seems different, somehow.
But Ronald never does.
"What should we have for lunch?" Ronald will ask instead, flipping through his fan mail.
Grimace wants to suggest anything new. Italian, Chinese, Indian. Sushi. Vegan risotto. Tacos.
But if he wants to keep H.B. safe, no one must ever guess. And so, "Burgers?" he offers, his voice quiet.
"Hooray!" Ronald crows, pumping his yellow-gloved fist in the air. He'll find out eventually, Grimace knows-- but today is not that day.