One of the stranger American English phrases I have noticed that seems to exclusive to a certain pocket of Gen-X'ers and Millenials is the rhetorical question, "Am I being Punk'd right now?"
I'm entirely certain the first time I heard this phrase used in this way was in the 2007 film Transformers, directed by Michael Bay. As a 9 year old at the time, even I thought that was a weird cultural reference to make. I had both seen Ashtons Kutcher’s Punk'd on TV before, and could most probably identify Ashton Kutcher in a lineup if you had asked me to at the time, and yet it still stood out to me like a sore thumb. I admit I have only seen Transformers twice - Once on a pirated-and-edited-for-my-mormon-neighbor DVD, and once again on a roadtrip on one of those headrest mounted displays in my mom’s SUV. I may be misremembering this gag, or even inventing it entirely. I think the joke was that referencing Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d , even in 2007, was a clumsy attempt at seeming cool, snappy, and in tune with the younger generation was inherently a goofy thing that only old people like Shia LeBouf’s white haired professor would do. This was my first recollection of the phrase “Am I being Punk’d right now?”/”Are you Punk’d-ing me right now?”/”I totally thought you were Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d-ing us”/etc.” being used outside of the context of an actual episode of Punk’d, and since then I have kept track of more or less every time someone else has invoked the cultural touchstone that is Mr. Kutcher’s incredibly famous and popular prank show. On 4 separate occasions, 2 of them being from my mom, someone has rhetorically asked me if there were hidden cameras recording them in exasperation over the absurdity of whatever was happening in that instant. All 4 of those times, it came from someone older than be by at least one generational label, if not two. All 4 of those times, I could not resist but be possessed by my inner mean spirit, and would poke fun at the use of such a reference.
But, perhaps, I am nothing if not my mom’s child.
“Am I Getting Punk’d Right Now?” an internal monologue rushed to the forefront of my conscience to shout, as the McDonald’s employee walked up to my car window literally less than 10 seconds from when I had pulled into the mobile order pickup parking spot and tapped “Here” in the McDonald’s app to confirm that I had arrived to The Grimace’s birthday celebration.
Stunned by the sheer speed at which the kind worker had thrust the intoxicatingly purple milkshake and neatly presented brown and red bag containing one medium order of fries and a big mac into my hands, I barely had the time to process the social transaction, nor can I recollect the event in any detail beyond this. I don’t remember what he said to me, or what I said back. Did I pull a classic rookie mistake and respond to an “Enjoy your meal” with “You Too”? I have no way of knowing. The drive home with my new meal in tow was equally as expedient, as I hit every green light on the way back, turning a 5 minute drive (if my sense of recollecting my previous McDonald’s experiences at this location is to be trusted) into a brisk 2 minute drive.
Not 10 minutes prior did I even conceive the notion that I would be celebrating a birthday that night. I wasn’t even aware there was a birthday to celebrate until I had seen the news on Twitter. But, a birthday only comes once a year, and I hadn’t yet eaten dinner. So it was decided that I needed the purple milkshake. This series of events resolved so rapidly that I had no sense to anticipate, guess, or ask what flavor such a milkshake could be. A Big Mac, some french fries - These were familiar to me. Practically staples of a broke teenage Me that did not always have the sense of security when it came to home cooked meals. I have no illusions over the McDonald’s corporation being a “friend” or anything, and if Ray Kroc got what he deserves he is rotting in hell at this very moment, but I think the countless trips to McDonalds throughout every stage of my life and my sensory nostalgia for the sickening stench of McDonald’s cheese, grimy Nintendo 64 and Playstation 2 controllers, and unholy Playplace plastics may have played some part in my ease of willingness to place an order for this meal on my phone. As if I had all of those memories and senses of memories unlocked by a now viral photograph of a young Grimace with missing teeth standing inside of a McDonald’s restaurant. Devilishly clever marketing from the McDonald’s corporate team.
But i’m rambling now - The purple milkshake. Subconsciously, I probably assumed it was a purple sweet potato flavor, like Taro or the Filipino favorite Ube. Before taking the dive into the shake tasting experience itself, I observed two qualities it possessed:
Observation 1.) This milkshake was notably runny. I don’t often order milkshakes with my food, particularly at McDonald’s, so I’m not sure if this was par for the course. Not that I’m complaining, but the image in my head of a milkshake is something thick, that you could almost turn upside down with little to no spillage, as the stylings of Dairy Queen’s Blizzard tend to boast. No, this shake was either shook too hard, was prepared well in advance of my arrival and melted, or the milkshake machine was experiencing some kind of issues. Fortunately, my milkshake was still cold and thick enough not to be a frosty soup, but it did not instill confidence in quality of the product.
Observation 2.) The milkshake was either underfilled, or they did not give me a standard helping of whipped cream. No doubt Grimace’s Birthday was a popular thing to celebrate, if my Twitter timeline as of right now is any indication, so I suppose I could see an impromptu shortening of the milkshake and whipped cream rationing. Disappointment is too strong of a word to describe how I felt seeing my milkshake filled well below the clearance provided by the domed lid even with the whipped cream on top, but it was once again an indicator to not expect this milkshake to be more than “Okay” at best. It was his birthday, so I suppose I can only ask for so much from Grimace.
As I pulled suction from the straw, the not-as-thick-as-i’d-have-expected milkshake flooded my mouth. The experience that played out there did so in multiple distinct stages. For a fraction of a section, surprise at the blue-berryish flavor, relinquished by an “Oh well obviously”, for a few fractions more. A whole second later, confusion, or even bafflement at the choice to flavor a dairy dessert with fruit - Something I associated more with frozen, icee-like treats, and then another mental concession once I had remembered that Strawberry Milkshakes are indeed very popular as well. Still, the creamy blueberry sensation was new to me, and I could not tell if I enjoyed it or not. Before I could come to a conclusion, the oral sensation had begun to shift.
The flavor of the milkshake migrated from a creamy and sweet berry flavor engulfing my cheeks and the flat of my tongue, to something a bit more acidic and sharp onto the vertical sides and tip of it, almost as if I was consuming real fruit. This formed a sort of feedback loop where that sourness, that hint of zing would begin to make my mouth water, which would in turn only make the zing that currently inhabited my tastebuds all the more potent, until the milkshake eventually found its way back to my throat and died down.
The opening act of the milkshake was nothing to write home about, boringly sweet and a little confusing. But the climax of this taste, as fleeting as it was, was the real deal. It was a high so potent that my initial apprehensiveness towards it quickly faded. And so I took another sip. Then another three more sips. Amazed at the novelty of the shake, I had to force myself to be reminded that if I did not eat the rest of my meal soon, it would become cold. If you have ever had cold fries from McDonald’s, you should know that in this context, cold food is basically inedible food. Perhaps not even really “food” anymore.
Crispy, salty french fries, a tangy big mac, and a new wondrous non-euclidean milkshake. What’s not to love about this gluttony of riches?
As it turns out, this was actually the achilles’ heel of the Grimace Birthday meal. The delight and novelty of the milkshake was fragile. It couldn’t even settle on what it was inside of my mouth when it had no competing consistencies, textures, or flavors. Against the wave of the monolithically consistent Big Mac and accompanying fries, the milkshake had stood no chance. All those years of eating McDonald’s had cemented these flavors into the brain of my tongue and had selfishly completely and utterly enveloped my tastebuds. Been there, done that. Is this really all there is? McDonald’s is what I would consider to be comfort food, in that a simple fulfillment and instant gratification of my craving for it can temporarily and superficially soothe some of my troubles at any given time, but at the cost of contributing very directly to some of my other troubles. I would go on to finish my meal, but I did not feel very comforted this time around, even discounting whatever the usual physical consequences I would be experiencing.
The purple Grimace Milkshake simply did not compliment the rest of the meal. Perhaps if I had ordered the McNugget version of this meal, things would be different. Perhaps if my single mother at the time could have afforded to pay for me to join my local football program as a child, things would be different.
But I did not join a football program, and I did not order the McNuggets.
I know better than to worry about the literally infinite what-if scenarios in my life, and yet, I still do. I suspect even the most carefree, adventurous individuals do the same; Left, instead of Right; Soup, instead of Salad; The risk of rejection outweighing the possibility of returns of boundless joy.
This is human nature. As humans, we are all bound to the nebulous construct of Time. If humans could experience infinite Time, it stands to reason to myself that each infinite what-if scenario involving them would transpire. But whether we are conscious of it or not, Time is something we are always losing. To generations older than me, perhaps Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d is on the same level of novelty as The Internet, Fidget Spinners, and self driving cars that explode. Even something as monotonous and unchanging as the McDonald’s menu is not immune to the forces of time, being unable to help but invoke and exploit the ghosts of times past, either by way of intentional propaganda or sensory happenstance from the individual, with endless gimmick promotion after gimmick promotion, of which their appeal is propped up entirely by the limited Time they are available for.
Time has the power to ambush us at our most vulnerable moments. I was blindsided by Grimace’s birthday arriving, just as I have become increasingly often blindsided by the birthdays of those around me, and most frighteningly blindsided by my very own birthday. I can still remember as if it were yesterday what those old McDonald’s restaurants in that photograph of young Grimace looked and smelled like. I’ve lived through at least 2 total brand aesthetic revitalization efforts from McDonald’s, and have seen the same location remodeled to fit this branding more than once, with each successive remodel less potent in my memory than the last. The effects of this McTime Dilation reach me even in as brief an interaction as pulling into a parking spot to pick up my food. References to Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d is something old people do. I… Am getting Old now.
Where did the time go?
The Grimace Birthday meal at McDonald’s is a grave reminder of my own mortality.
The meal itself is a limited time offer, as is the fleeting bliss of the sharpest notes of His milkshake on my tongue. The new sensations the human experience may offer me are always suppressed and truncated by Time’s Constant, just as the purple Grimace milkshake is suppressed and truncated by a Big Mac and Fries. It is an unavoidable tragedy, but one that either inspires or scares me to make the most out of the miniscule amount of Time I have left in the greater cosmic calendar. Should I get to experience the Grimace Birthday meal once again, I will savor it, unperturbed by the prospects of the main course.
I did not play this video game.
I'm entirely certain the first time I heard this phrase used in this way was in the 2007 film Transformers, directed by Michael Bay. As a 9 year old at the time, even I thought that was a weird cultural reference to make. I had both seen Ashtons Kutcher’s Punk'd on TV before, and could most probably identify Ashton Kutcher in a lineup if you had asked me to at the time, and yet it still stood out to me like a sore thumb. I admit I have only seen Transformers twice - Once on a pirated-and-edited-for-my-mormon-neighbor DVD, and once again on a roadtrip on one of those headrest mounted displays in my mom’s SUV. I may be misremembering this gag, or even inventing it entirely. I think the joke was that referencing Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d , even in 2007, was a clumsy attempt at seeming cool, snappy, and in tune with the younger generation was inherently a goofy thing that only old people like Shia LeBouf’s white haired professor would do. This was my first recollection of the phrase “Am I being Punk’d right now?”/”Are you Punk’d-ing me right now?”/”I totally thought you were Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d-ing us”/etc.” being used outside of the context of an actual episode of Punk’d, and since then I have kept track of more or less every time someone else has invoked the cultural touchstone that is Mr. Kutcher’s incredibly famous and popular prank show. On 4 separate occasions, 2 of them being from my mom, someone has rhetorically asked me if there were hidden cameras recording them in exasperation over the absurdity of whatever was happening in that instant. All 4 of those times, it came from someone older than be by at least one generational label, if not two. All 4 of those times, I could not resist but be possessed by my inner mean spirit, and would poke fun at the use of such a reference.
But, perhaps, I am nothing if not my mom’s child.
“Am I Getting Punk’d Right Now?” an internal monologue rushed to the forefront of my conscience to shout, as the McDonald’s employee walked up to my car window literally less than 10 seconds from when I had pulled into the mobile order pickup parking spot and tapped “Here” in the McDonald’s app to confirm that I had arrived to The Grimace’s birthday celebration.
Stunned by the sheer speed at which the kind worker had thrust the intoxicatingly purple milkshake and neatly presented brown and red bag containing one medium order of fries and a big mac into my hands, I barely had the time to process the social transaction, nor can I recollect the event in any detail beyond this. I don’t remember what he said to me, or what I said back. Did I pull a classic rookie mistake and respond to an “Enjoy your meal” with “You Too”? I have no way of knowing. The drive home with my new meal in tow was equally as expedient, as I hit every green light on the way back, turning a 5 minute drive (if my sense of recollecting my previous McDonald’s experiences at this location is to be trusted) into a brisk 2 minute drive.
Not 10 minutes prior did I even conceive the notion that I would be celebrating a birthday that night. I wasn’t even aware there was a birthday to celebrate until I had seen the news on Twitter. But, a birthday only comes once a year, and I hadn’t yet eaten dinner. So it was decided that I needed the purple milkshake. This series of events resolved so rapidly that I had no sense to anticipate, guess, or ask what flavor such a milkshake could be. A Big Mac, some french fries - These were familiar to me. Practically staples of a broke teenage Me that did not always have the sense of security when it came to home cooked meals. I have no illusions over the McDonald’s corporation being a “friend” or anything, and if Ray Kroc got what he deserves he is rotting in hell at this very moment, but I think the countless trips to McDonalds throughout every stage of my life and my sensory nostalgia for the sickening stench of McDonald’s cheese, grimy Nintendo 64 and Playstation 2 controllers, and unholy Playplace plastics may have played some part in my ease of willingness to place an order for this meal on my phone. As if I had all of those memories and senses of memories unlocked by a now viral photograph of a young Grimace with missing teeth standing inside of a McDonald’s restaurant. Devilishly clever marketing from the McDonald’s corporate team.
But i’m rambling now - The purple milkshake. Subconsciously, I probably assumed it was a purple sweet potato flavor, like Taro or the Filipino favorite Ube. Before taking the dive into the shake tasting experience itself, I observed two qualities it possessed:
Observation 1.) This milkshake was notably runny. I don’t often order milkshakes with my food, particularly at McDonald’s, so I’m not sure if this was par for the course. Not that I’m complaining, but the image in my head of a milkshake is something thick, that you could almost turn upside down with little to no spillage, as the stylings of Dairy Queen’s Blizzard tend to boast. No, this shake was either shook too hard, was prepared well in advance of my arrival and melted, or the milkshake machine was experiencing some kind of issues. Fortunately, my milkshake was still cold and thick enough not to be a frosty soup, but it did not instill confidence in quality of the product.
Observation 2.) The milkshake was either underfilled, or they did not give me a standard helping of whipped cream. No doubt Grimace’s Birthday was a popular thing to celebrate, if my Twitter timeline as of right now is any indication, so I suppose I could see an impromptu shortening of the milkshake and whipped cream rationing. Disappointment is too strong of a word to describe how I felt seeing my milkshake filled well below the clearance provided by the domed lid even with the whipped cream on top, but it was once again an indicator to not expect this milkshake to be more than “Okay” at best. It was his birthday, so I suppose I can only ask for so much from Grimace.
As I pulled suction from the straw, the not-as-thick-as-i’d-have-expected milkshake flooded my mouth. The experience that played out there did so in multiple distinct stages. For a fraction of a section, surprise at the blue-berryish flavor, relinquished by an “Oh well obviously”, for a few fractions more. A whole second later, confusion, or even bafflement at the choice to flavor a dairy dessert with fruit - Something I associated more with frozen, icee-like treats, and then another mental concession once I had remembered that Strawberry Milkshakes are indeed very popular as well. Still, the creamy blueberry sensation was new to me, and I could not tell if I enjoyed it or not. Before I could come to a conclusion, the oral sensation had begun to shift.
The flavor of the milkshake migrated from a creamy and sweet berry flavor engulfing my cheeks and the flat of my tongue, to something a bit more acidic and sharp onto the vertical sides and tip of it, almost as if I was consuming real fruit. This formed a sort of feedback loop where that sourness, that hint of zing would begin to make my mouth water, which would in turn only make the zing that currently inhabited my tastebuds all the more potent, until the milkshake eventually found its way back to my throat and died down.
The opening act of the milkshake was nothing to write home about, boringly sweet and a little confusing. But the climax of this taste, as fleeting as it was, was the real deal. It was a high so potent that my initial apprehensiveness towards it quickly faded. And so I took another sip. Then another three more sips. Amazed at the novelty of the shake, I had to force myself to be reminded that if I did not eat the rest of my meal soon, it would become cold. If you have ever had cold fries from McDonald’s, you should know that in this context, cold food is basically inedible food. Perhaps not even really “food” anymore.
Crispy, salty french fries, a tangy big mac, and a new wondrous non-euclidean milkshake. What’s not to love about this gluttony of riches?
As it turns out, this was actually the achilles’ heel of the Grimace Birthday meal. The delight and novelty of the milkshake was fragile. It couldn’t even settle on what it was inside of my mouth when it had no competing consistencies, textures, or flavors. Against the wave of the monolithically consistent Big Mac and accompanying fries, the milkshake had stood no chance. All those years of eating McDonald’s had cemented these flavors into the brain of my tongue and had selfishly completely and utterly enveloped my tastebuds. Been there, done that. Is this really all there is? McDonald’s is what I would consider to be comfort food, in that a simple fulfillment and instant gratification of my craving for it can temporarily and superficially soothe some of my troubles at any given time, but at the cost of contributing very directly to some of my other troubles. I would go on to finish my meal, but I did not feel very comforted this time around, even discounting whatever the usual physical consequences I would be experiencing.
The purple Grimace Milkshake simply did not compliment the rest of the meal. Perhaps if I had ordered the McNugget version of this meal, things would be different. Perhaps if my single mother at the time could have afforded to pay for me to join my local football program as a child, things would be different.
But I did not join a football program, and I did not order the McNuggets.
I know better than to worry about the literally infinite what-if scenarios in my life, and yet, I still do. I suspect even the most carefree, adventurous individuals do the same; Left, instead of Right; Soup, instead of Salad; The risk of rejection outweighing the possibility of returns of boundless joy.
This is human nature. As humans, we are all bound to the nebulous construct of Time. If humans could experience infinite Time, it stands to reason to myself that each infinite what-if scenario involving them would transpire. But whether we are conscious of it or not, Time is something we are always losing. To generations older than me, perhaps Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d is on the same level of novelty as The Internet, Fidget Spinners, and self driving cars that explode. Even something as monotonous and unchanging as the McDonald’s menu is not immune to the forces of time, being unable to help but invoke and exploit the ghosts of times past, either by way of intentional propaganda or sensory happenstance from the individual, with endless gimmick promotion after gimmick promotion, of which their appeal is propped up entirely by the limited Time they are available for.
Time has the power to ambush us at our most vulnerable moments. I was blindsided by Grimace’s birthday arriving, just as I have become increasingly often blindsided by the birthdays of those around me, and most frighteningly blindsided by my very own birthday. I can still remember as if it were yesterday what those old McDonald’s restaurants in that photograph of young Grimace looked and smelled like. I’ve lived through at least 2 total brand aesthetic revitalization efforts from McDonald’s, and have seen the same location remodeled to fit this branding more than once, with each successive remodel less potent in my memory than the last. The effects of this McTime Dilation reach me even in as brief an interaction as pulling into a parking spot to pick up my food. References to Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d is something old people do. I… Am getting Old now.
Where did the time go?
The Grimace Birthday meal at McDonald’s is a grave reminder of my own mortality.
The meal itself is a limited time offer, as is the fleeting bliss of the sharpest notes of His milkshake on my tongue. The new sensations the human experience may offer me are always suppressed and truncated by Time’s Constant, just as the purple Grimace milkshake is suppressed and truncated by a Big Mac and Fries. It is an unavoidable tragedy, but one that either inspires or scares me to make the most out of the miniscule amount of Time I have left in the greater cosmic calendar. Should I get to experience the Grimace Birthday meal once again, I will savor it, unperturbed by the prospects of the main course.
I did not play this video game.
2 Comments
I will read this review, but I'd like to point out that I didn't read it and scrolled to the bottom and still laughed.
HaroKid
10 months ago