The CEO’s Golden Arches
Elias Grant, CEO of McDonald’s, stared at the quarterly report glowing on his private jet’s screen. Profits were flat. Millennials and Gen Z were “mindful” now—whatever that meant. He needed volume. He needed addiction. He needed bodies that kept coming back for more.
So he called the flavor lab in Oak Brook at 2 a.m. “Double the sugar in the buns,” he said. “Triple the salt in the fries. Add that new opioid-like fat blend we tested last year. I want every bite to feel like the first hit of heroin and the last hit of dessert at the same time.”
The head scientist hesitated. “Elias, the data shows—”
“Data shows I get paid eight figures to move units. Do it.”
Within six months the new “Crave Formula” rolled out nationwide. Sales spiked 19 percent. But Grant wanted more. He wanted permanence.
He flew to DoorDash headquarters in San Francisco the next week. Over sushi he didn’t eat, he slid a check across the table. “Priority placement for every McDonald’s item. Auto-suggest ‘Large’ on every order placed by women 18–24. Throw in free delivery after 9 p.m. when they’re scrolling alone in bed. Call it the Midnight Crave Club.”
DoorDash loved the money. The app started pinging college dorms and starter apartments at the exact moment young women finished class, finished work, finished pretending they had self-control. One tap, thirty minutes later: two Big Macs, large fries, Coke the size of a toddler’s leg. DoorDash took its cut. Grant took the rest.
Next he green-lit the marketing campaign nobody at corporate dared question. “Love Every Inch.” Billboards showed smiling twenty-three-year-olds in crop tops, bellies soft and proud, holding McDonald’s bags like trophies. Influencers with verified accounts posted videos: “Body positivity means eating what makes you happy, queens 💕 #LoveEveryInch #McDonalds.” The ads never said “gain weight.” They just made sure every comment section filled with feeder accounts praising the new curves.
Grant kept those feeder accounts on a secret payroll.
In windowless rooms in Chicago, his digital team seeded Reddit, TikTok, and private Discord servers with “feeder-friendly” content. They hired chubby-chasers to post transformation videos: “She went from 115 to 185 in eighteen months and she’s never been hotter.” They paid OnlyFans creators to whisper into the camera, “My feeder boyfriend says my belly is perfect when I finish the whole bag.” Every video ended with a McDonald’s logo and a DoorDash code: FIRSTBITE for 25% off.
The numbers rolled in like warm apple pies.
By the time the first cohort hit twenty-five, the data was beautiful. Average weight gain for women aged 18–24 in McDonald’s loyalty program: forty-one pounds. Obesity rate before twenty-five: up 34 percent in three years. Grant pinned the graph to his office wall like a child’s report card.
One Thursday night he sat in his penthouse overlooking the river, watching the live sales dashboard pulse green. A new notification pinged—his personal algorithm had flagged a profile. Twenty-two-year-old marketing coordinator in Austin. Name: Riley. Started at 118 pounds, size 2. Eighteen months of DoorDash logs, every order stamped with the Crave Formula. Current weight: 207. Her latest TikTok, captioned “Soft life only 🥹,” already had 400k likes and a comment from one of Grant’s paid feeders: “God I’d kill to stuff you fuller.”
Grant smiled, poured himself a forty-year-old scotch, and raised the glass toward the glowing city.
“To every woman who thinks she’s just ‘letting herself go,’” he said quietly. “And to every dollar she spends proving it.”
He tapped the screen, approving next quarter’s budget for the new “Ultra-Crave” chicken nuggets—forty percent more engineered fat.
Somewhere in Austin, Riley opened her DoorDash app again. The recommendation glowed: Large McDonald’s order, ready in 28 minutes.
She tapped “Order Now.”
Grant’s bonus cleared the bank at midnight.
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Elias Grant, CEO of McDonald’s, stared at the quarterly report glowing on his private jet’s screen. Profits were flat. Millennials and Gen Z were “mindful” now—whatever that meant. He needed volume. He needed addiction. He needed bodies that kept coming back for more.
So he called the flavor lab in Oak Brook at 2 a.m. “Double the sugar in the buns,” he said. “Triple the salt in the fries. Add that new opioid-like fat blend we tested last year. I want every bite to feel like the first hit of heroin and the last hit of dessert at the same time.”
The head scientist hesitated. “Elias, the data shows—”
“Data shows I get paid eight figures to move units. Do it.”
Within six months the new “Crave Formula” rolled out nationwide. Sales spiked 19 percent. But Grant wanted more. He wanted permanence.
He flew to DoorDash headquarters in San Francisco the next week. Over sushi he didn’t eat, he slid a check across the table. “Priority placement for every McDonald’s item. Auto-suggest ‘Large’ on every order placed by women 18–24. Throw in free delivery after 9 p.m. when they’re scrolling alone in bed. Call it the Midnight Crave Club.”
DoorDash loved the money. The app started pinging college dorms and starter apartments at the exact moment young women finished class, finished work, finished pretending they had self-control. One tap, thirty minutes later: two Big Macs, large fries, Coke the size of a toddler’s leg. DoorDash took its cut. Grant took the rest.
Next he green-lit the marketing campaign nobody at corporate dared question. “Love Every Inch.” Billboards showed smiling twenty-three-year-olds in crop tops, bellies soft and proud, holding McDonald’s bags like trophies. Influencers with verified accounts posted videos: “Body positivity means eating what makes you happy, queens 💕 #LoveEveryInch #McDonalds.” The ads never said “gain weight.” They just made sure every comment section filled with feeder accounts praising the new curves.
Grant kept those feeder accounts on a secret payroll.
In windowless rooms in Chicago, his digital team seeded Reddit, TikTok, and private Discord servers with “feeder-friendly” content. They hired chubby-chasers to post transformation videos: “She went from 115 to 185 in eighteen months and she’s never been hotter.” They paid OnlyFans creators to whisper into the camera, “My feeder boyfriend says my belly is perfect when I finish the whole bag.” Every video ended with a McDonald’s logo and a DoorDash code: FIRSTBITE for 25% off.
The numbers rolled in like warm apple pies.
By the time the first cohort hit twenty-five, the data was beautiful. Average weight gain for women aged 18–24 in McDonald’s loyalty program: forty-one pounds. Obesity rate before twenty-five: up 34 percent in three years. Grant pinned the graph to his office wall like a child’s report card.
One Thursday night he sat in his penthouse overlooking the river, watching the live sales dashboard pulse green. A new notification pinged—his personal algorithm had flagged a profile. Twenty-two-year-old marketing coordinator in Austin. Name: Riley. Started at 118 pounds, size 2. Eighteen months of DoorDash logs, every order stamped with the Crave Formula. Current weight: 207. Her latest TikTok, captioned “Soft life only 🥹,” already had 400k likes and a comment from one of Grant’s paid feeders: “God I’d kill to stuff you fuller.”
Grant smiled, poured himself a forty-year-old scotch, and raised the glass toward the glowing city.
“To every woman who thinks she’s just ‘letting herself go,’” he said quietly. “And to every dollar she spends proving it.”
He tapped the screen, approving next quarter’s budget for the new “Ultra-Crave” chicken nuggets—forty percent more engineered fat.
Somewhere in Austin, Riley opened her DoorDash app again. The recommendation glowed: Large McDonald’s order, ready in 28 minutes.
She tapped “Order Now.”
Grant’s bonus cleared the bank at midnight.
[img][/img]
4 days