The least I can do is try Arby's Meat Mountain.
Yesterday, like many writers, I reported on Arby's Meat Mountain sandwich, the roast beef chain's philosophical combination of the KFC Double Down and the cracked out super-frappuccinos ordered by Starbucks' more creative customers.
If you haven't yet heard -- and bless your heart for focusing on important things, if not -- Arby's Mega Meat Mountain stacks 2 chicken tenders, 1.5 oz. of roast turkey, 1.5 oz. of ham, 1 slice of Swiss cheese, 1.5 oz. of corned beef, 1.5 oz. brisket, 1.5 oz. of Angus steak, 1 slice of cheddar cheese, 1.5 oz. roast beef and 3 half-strips of bacon onto a flour, kaiser-ish, bun.
So I ate one.
Objective review: It's an impressively gross tasting manifestation of the darkest truths about ourselves (and would probably be a lot better without the chicken tenders) -- but you knew that.
It's comprised of at least four different former living things -- and not carefully assembled and prepared like turducken -- just stacked haphazardly with some of their own flavored animal fat in between, because why not? The entire center fails to heat, creating a cold pole of salted muscle that you just have to kind of deal with. I added fries to mine because I make good choices.
My local Arby's even had a poster that read "See how we're doing in the fight against childhood hunger in America," over a goal thermometer showing the location had collected zero dollars for underfed kids. Obviously it was a disgusting experience for both body and soul.
But it was also fun and that's absolutely the only point.
Writing for the Wire, Adam Chandler convinced himself the sandwich pushed him into an existential struggle against himself so vivid you would think the horsey sauce was laced with something.
"I'm starting to slow down, even as the world speeds up ... It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay ... The corned beef cannot hear the swiss cheese."
Recognizing a softball when they see one, the Onion hit a home run with the headline "Arby's Now Charging $2.99 To Let Customers Go Behind Counter, Grab Handfuls Of Roast Beef."
"For an extra dollar, company sources confirmed, patrons will be able to select the Arby's 'Max' option, which allows them to plunge right into a juicy roast beef pile with their open mouths and ingest as much as they can within the 15-second time limit."
One of my editors filmed me eating my Meat Mountain in 5 minutes and 52 seconds, then used Hyperlapse to speed it up to 44 seconds, because combining two Internet trends seemed like a good idea at the time. It's funny, I look like a gerbil.
If the idea of trying to consume one of these weird, wretched tasting, terrible things sounds fun, you should go to Arby's and get one. Bring your friends, take stupid pictures and forget about Gaza for an hour.
Just maybe throw something in for those hungry kids. And mentally prepare yourself for the meat mudslide.