I too have eaten a quarter-pound cheeseburger on an empty stomach in a hotel room at 2 in the morning, felt my insides puff then vaporize, fallen to the floor and silently wept until at last asleep, the tears crusty on the already crusty floor.
So I commend Morgan Spurlock, director, writer, star and guinea pig of "Super Size Me," for eating so much crap. For all the Big n' Tastys he's love and lost, I wonder that he can even feel at all.
But the two to three times a month I eat fast-food, whether in a pinch or just craving the combination of lifeless cow, cheese and special sauce, I know I have made the choice to be an utter moron.
The only people who can deny that fast-food is unhealthy are the same kind of people who can look you in the eye and deny that smoking is bad for you. In short, madcap liars and raving psychopaths.
The problem is that it tastes good, and that's why the only enemy is the little voice in the back of your head, preaching gratification ahead of self-control.
No international corporation makes you eat its food. It simply makes money off people who are too lazy to take care of themselves.
No cartoon character can be blamed for irrevocably bending the will of a young child. If a roly-poly, purple orb named Grimace magically seduces your child into a world of bacon and a lifetime of obesity and despair, please lock your young one away and feed him nothing but prunes.
Spurlock seems to be a likable guy. It's natural, and entertaining, to be worried about him. It was obvious that he was going to make himself quite sick. When the scene cut from him talking to his vegan girlfriend about his liver deteriorating, to him sitting on the couch alone with another burger, I prayed the self-immolation would end.