Category: McDonalds

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Making McDonald’s Great Again

Scene: Trump Tower, golden elevator lobby

Joe Jukic (sharp suit, proud Canadian-Croatian accent):
“Mr. Trump, it’s time to Make McDonald’s Great Again. The secret? Go back to the old-school fries. Beef tallow. None of this weak vegetable oil. We bring in real organic potatoes. Alberta, Idaho, even Croatia—we make fries great again.”

Donald Trump (nodding, hands chopping the air):
“Joe, you’re absolutely right. The fries used to be the best in the world. Then they got rid of the beef tallow. Terrible mistake. Everybody tells me—‘Sir, the fries don’t taste the same.’ Well, we’re going to fix that. We’ll bring back the taste that made McDonald’s legendary. Strong fries. Winning fries.”

Joe Jukic:
“And we lock in the farmers, sir. Organic potatoes. No GMO. No fake fertilizers. We bring back the flavor, the tradition. McDonald’s will feel like home again.”

Trump (smirking, like he’s got the ace up his sleeve):
“And I’ve got a new idea, Joe. A TRUMP Salad. Tremendous lettuce—green, not sad and brown like Biden’s. Perfect tomatoes. Beautiful cucumbers. Maybe steak on top. People say, ‘Trump only eats burgers and fries.’ Well, guess what—Trump Salad will be number one. Nobody’s ever seen a salad like this before.”

Joe Jukic (smiling, leaning forward):
“MMGA, sir. Make McDonald’s Great Again. Beef tallow fries. Trump Salad. People will love it. The whole world will taste the difference.”

Trump (arms wide, grand finale):
“They’ll say, ‘Sir, you didn’t just save McDonald’s. You saved America.’ And you know what, Joe? They’ll be right. Nobody saves better than me. Nobody.”

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Trump Declassifies the Black Dahlia Tapes

Scene: “The Hail Mary Broadcast” — G.I. Joe vs. the Illuminati

Exterior – Nightfall – Vancouver, glowing with neon and secrets. Joe, no longer just a soldier, but a crusader of cosmic justice, stands outside a Tim Hortons on Main Street. The red leaf sign flickers. Joe stares it down like it’s the eye of the Beast.

JOE (to himself):
“Maple syrup’s got blood in it.”

He SPITS on the window. It drips slowly down the glass. A family inside gasps. He doesn’t care. This is war.

Cut to: National Broadcast Interruption
Every screen across North America glitches. Static. Then—

🎙️ G.I. JOE (VO – distorted, thunderous):
“This is not a test. This is a revelation.”

On every network, G.I. Joe appears in an XCOM war room, flanked by agents and backed by digital firewalls glowing like the Matrix. He turns to a trembling, orange-faced Donald Trump, bound to a chair with a “Skull & Bones” patch on his suit.

JOE:
“Mr. President. Play the Black Dahlia tapes. Now.”

TRUMP (sweating):
“Joe, please… that stuff’s not for the public—”

JOE:
“Exactly. It’s for the parents. For every mom and dad who needs to know what Satanic Hollywood rituals look like. This ain’t no movie.”

Trump gulps. With shaking hands, he presses PLAY.

The screen behind them shows black-and-white footage. A girl’s scream. Strange robes. Cameras. Blood. Laughter. Masks. Candles. Then silence.

A warning flashes:

🔞 “NO CHILDREN ALLOWED. PARENTAL RECKONING REQUIRED.” 🔞

Cut to: Downtown Vancouver – Day
Joe walks like fire incarnate through the streets. Wendy’s? Closed. White Spot? Graffiti’d with “CHILDREN ARE NOT ON THE MENU.”

He marches up to McDonald’s. The golden arches loom like a portal to Hell. Joe stares at the giant plastic Ronald statue and snarls.

JOE:
“You think this clown’s funny? That’s not a happy meal—it’s a death cult starter pack.”

He pulls out a megaphone:

JOE (shouting):
“I want a boycott! BOYCOTT MASONIC BUSINESSES! Burn the arches! Take back your city!”

Passersby begin to stop. Some clap. Others film. The revolution is going viral.

Cut to: A dark alley near the CBC Building
Tom Welling, once a Smallville star, now just a man trying to make peace, steps forward. His hoodie is pulled low. His hands tremble.

TOM WELLING:
“Joe…”

Joe turns. Recognizes him. Pauses. He doesn’t speak.

TOM (choked up):
“I went to Ronald McDonald House. Smiled with that clown. I did it… hoping you’d see. Hoping you’d do something I couldn’t.”

Joe nods slowly. Like a priest granting penance with his eyes.

TOM (ashamed):
“I thought maybe… you’d pull a Hail Mary. And you did.”

JOE (quiet, firm):
“This ain’t about shame, Tom. It’s about truth. And you found your way back.”

Joe hands Tom a flame-shaped pin—red and gold: the symbol of the Children’s Fire, an old tribal oath to never again let harm come to a child.

JOE:
“Time to burn the clowns.”

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McDonald’s Stock Prices

INT. PATRICK BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Chrome surfaces gleam. Huey Lewis plays softly in the background. Bateman, in a Valentino robe, is watching archival footage of Donald Trump’s infamous White House McDonald’s feast—Big Macs piled high like a pagan altar to cholesterol and capitalism.

BATEMAN
(Whispers, almost reverently)
Beautiful. Just beautiful.

He slowly pours himself an imported mineral water and walks over to the television, pausing the image of Trump grinning behind a fortress of Quarter Pounders.

BATEMAN (CONT’D)
A man who feeds champions with food from the people’s temple. No Michelin stars, no fussy menus. Just processed meat, precision-engineered for profit and addiction. Trump doesn’t cater to elitism. He annihilates it. He feeds athletes like they’re interns at Merrill Lynch. And they ate it up.

BATEMAN (to himself)
Ronald would be proud.

He walks over to his laptop, opens a new tab on Bloomberg, and types: “MCD: NYSE.” The McDonald’s stock ticker opens—Bateman smirks.

BATEMAN (CONT’D)
The killer clown’s numbers are up. Grease is bullish. Obesity is a national investment strategy. That dinner was the ultimate brand alignment—Trump and McDonald’s: the sultan and the jester of modern empire.

CUT TO:

INT. RONALD MCDONALD HOUSE – DAY (FANTASY)
Bateman, in a designer apron, gracefully hands out Happy Meals to sick children in hospital beds. He’s smiling—vacant, perfect.

BATEMAN (V.O.)
There’s something pure about it. Service. Giving back. Feeding children in Ronald’s house, under his golden arches. Not just any food—his food. Branded sustenance. The body count? Impressive. A slow attrition campaign against the immune system. But at least they’re smiling.

A small girl in a wheelchair smiles as Bateman offers her a Filet-O-Fish. He kneels beside her.

BATEMAN
(Sincerely, yet hollow)
Would you like extra ketchup?

She nods. He hands it over like a communion wafer.

BATEMAN (V.O.)
Charity is cleaner when it’s corporate. It’s not about healing—it’s about presentation. Calories disguised as comfort. Smiles funded by shareholders. And under every Happy Meal toy? A lesson in dependence.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. PATRICK BATEMAN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
He clicks “Buy” on McDonald’s stock. Smiles.

BATEMAN
Ronald, you magnificent clown… you’re not just killing children. You’re killing it.

FADE TO BLACK.

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