Heath Gibson at Catallaxy posts about a bloke in the US who has conducted research into the health effects of McDonalds food by eating there exclusively 3 times per day for a prolonged period. As Heath puts it:
Predictably, Spurlock put on weight and suffered a range of health problem. He might want to claim this as some sort of revelation or political statement. But I think the only real message from this is that anyone who deliberately and repeatedly does something to themselves that they know is unhealthy and then tries to make any sort of statement about anything other than their own gross stupidity, is a supersized d!ckhead.
Tim Dunlop disagrees with Heath:
Really? I actually thought it was a pretty good idea for a documentary, but more importantly, I thought the results (if acurately reported) are astounding. Maybe Heath just had a much lower opinion of McDonalds than I did, but I’m with the doctor in the doco, I would never imagined Spurlock’s health could decline that drastically and that rapidly. I would’ve thought, sure, you’d put on some weight and get blotchy, but not dangerously ill. Maybe I’m nutso, but it seems to me you shouldn’t get that sick if you eat McDonalds three times a day. It shouldn’t destroy your liver. (Call me old fashioned.) This suggests they have crossed the line from unhealthy to poisonous. Again, presuming the results are accurate, I think Spurlock has every right to claim his adventure as a political statement and a revelation.
I don’t have anything sensible to add to Heath and Tim’s contributions. They just provide me with an opportunity to recount another reminiscence from my young and silly undergraduate days (as opposed to my young and silly post-graduate days):
I must have been 19 or 20 when these events occurred, and living in the inner west of Sydney while attending Sydney University. Like many uni students in those early days of the Whitlam government, I saw myself as a bit of a rad: Jimmy Dean rebel without a cause, without the sports car or filmstar good looks.
One day a group of us, brains addled by excessive consumption of gunja, decided to make a guerilla raid on McDonalds, the embodiment (as we saw it) of US imperialist multinational corporate consumerist exploitation. One of our group attended a local GP and obtained a prescription for Ipecac, a medicine that induces vomiting. We all rocked into the local Maccas on Broadway, ordered up big on quarter pounders, large fries, thick shakes and all the trimmings, chugged the requisite dose of Ipecac and waited. Nothing happened. We ordered more burgers and fries and scoffed them. Still nothing happened.
Belatedly someone suggested that we look more closely at the label on the medicine in which we’d been placing our revolutionary faith. It turned out to be Stematol, an anti-seasickness remedy whose effects are precisely opposite to Ipecac. The doctor had obviously dealt with dickhead stoned uni students before. We decided the only viable solution was to go home and consider a revised approach over several more bongs. Somehow or other the Raid on Maccas plan was never revived.