Does Grimace Fuck? An Investigation

It was a cold and horny night. I stared down into my recently emptied McDonald’s fry carton and took a sip of my Triple Thick Milkshake, perusing the Twittersphere in search of my next opportunity to disrupt the timeline with a shockingly distasteful but somewhat plausible series of tweets.

As my well of cursed ideas had nearly run dry, and my McDonald’s Triple Thick Milkshake came to an end, a Triple Thicc Legend relative to my current McDonald’s experience crossed my mind: Grimace the… purple thing. A friendly ball of fuzz from our childhood that seems to have disappeared, along with his supposed BFF Ronald, Birdie, The Hamburglar, and other accompanying McDonald's mascots.

It got me thinking, what is Grimace doing now that he’s retired? Is he drinking water? Staying moisturized? Doing his kegel exercises? (I asked McDonald’s for comment, but did not receive one as of press time. I don’t blame them.)

Then, as it normally does, my mind traveled to a terrible, terrible place. I couldn’t help but think to myself—cueing my very best Carrie Bradshaw impersonation, if Carrie Bradshaw was interested in the sexual practices of fast food chain mascots—“Does Grimace fuck?” Does Grimace, as the literary geniuses at Bossip would say, enjoy getting his purple cakes smashed to smithereens? I was surely curious, and there was only one way to find out.

It’s important, before I reveal my findings, to have a backstory on our thicc king. Grimace wasn’t always the soft and docile blob we know him as today. The people of McDonald’s originally created our good man Grimace to terrorize small children in search of Triple Thick Milkshakes. He was borderline reptilian, sporting two pairs of arms and scaring the shit out of little kids from coast to coast. Realizing that this probably wasn’t the best way to sell Happy Meals, McDonald’s came through quickly with the rebrand and continued carrying out their effective McCapitalist agenda.

Okay, back to the story. I took to the web in hopes of learning more about this potentially horny heap of purple hair. To my surprise, there’s a lot of information out there regarding Grimace’s rear-end-related activities. If you’re an inhabitant of a more menacing area of the internet, you’re probably familiar with this meme:

It comes in video form too, in case the image wasn’t cursed enough for you:

Other than this McNuggie discovery, there’s no sound evidence on the sexual practices of our purple protagonist (am I saying purple too often here? I don’t care.). Lucky for you all, I have a fucked up imagination, and I’m willing to place my bets on the following suppositions. ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃᶫˢᵒ ᵗᵒᵒ ᶫᵃᶻʸ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ᵃᶰʸ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʳᵉˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰ, ᵃᶰᵈ ᶦᵗ'ˢ ʷᵃʸ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᶠᵘᶰ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᶦˢ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ ᵘᵖ⋅

By this visual alone, we can gather that Grimace is an emotionally manipulative dom bottom, and that he wants Ronald McDonald to make Big Mac sauce on his big, fuzzy booty. He probably rides Ronald’s Creamy Ranch rocket into the night. However, he is extremely respectful of his partner’s boundaries and always makes breakfast the morning after having his patties flipped.

(I discovered a much more kawaii, hentai type version of the McNuggie meme, but given Grimace’s trifling and terrifying past, I’d vouch that the first is more accurate.)

What then, can we make of Ronald McDonald and the rest of this motley McDonald’s crew of misfits? We knew Grimace was regularly throwing the lavender yams on Ronald, but what of the others? Did they, too, fuck? I began to hypothesize.

At first glance, it’s safe to assume that Ronald McDominate-Me-Daddy likes getting his ass whooped. He likes getting his clown cakes slapped around a bit before putting his firmly erect french-fry into Grimace’s purple posterior regions. This submissive top icon stopped hiding his monogamous relationship with Grimace after the mascots started cashing in their retirement checks. Now, they regularly vacation in Europe and have considered adopting two McNuggets, from whom they will cautiously hide their sextracurricular activities. Until then, faint cries of “supersize this bussy” can be heard from outside the McMansion.

Now, we must discuss the Hamburglar; we all know a straight white guy like this. If you ask me, The Hamburglar is a sad misogynistic son-of-a-bitch who’d go to great lengths to steal a McDouble, but wouldn’t perform McCunnilingus even if you paid him in Quarter Pounders. To reiterate in plain English—no, the Hamburglar doesn’t give head, but would probably never say no to a BJ.

It’s no shock that this untrusty criminal is also a hypocrite. He talks a big game with little to show for it, and should be swiped left upon if encountered.

There’s not much to be said about our gal pal Birdie, other than she’s living her best life post-breakfast menu propaganda. Miss Birdie is a volcel queen who doesn’t have time for the bullshit. She steers clear of fucks like the Hamburglar and spends her time advocating LGBTQIA+ allyship and lefty politics to all who are willing to lend a listening ear. You go, Birdie. We stan.

As for the Fry Guys, they’re all in a healthy, polyamorous relationship, regularly attending sex parties and using their tiny bodies as anthropomorphic fluffers at every and any orgy. They’re relatively non-problematic and keep to themselves when they aren’t scrubbing their loofa-like bodies up against one another at the sex function.

Now, I don’t normally agree with cops, but Mayor McCheese and Officer Big Mac finally did something right and got the Moon Man (deservingly) locked up—that sick bastard. These two mostly incompetent government officials are now retired from the gig, still single, living the older gentleman bachelor lifestyle, occasionally bringing home a McGriddle (or two, if they’re feeling nasty) on the weekend, but always playing things safe.

Now that you’ve been given this information, use it wisely. Grimace and his companions were not meant to be slut-shamed, but understood. ᴬᶜᵗᵘᵃᶫᶫʸ, ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵐᵉᵃᶰᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵘʳᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᶰᵉᵗᵃʳʸ ᵃᵍᵉᶰᵈᵃ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵐᵃˢˢᶦᵛᵉ ᶠᵃˢᵗ ᶠᵒᵒᵈ ᶠʳᵃᶰᶜʰᶦˢᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᶫᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ⋅ Anyway, you get me. Treat Grimace as you wish for Grimace to treat you—with compassion, but also like a dirty little McThot—because Grimaces are people, too. Sort of.

This is, obviously, satire. McDonald's was not involved in any way with this content.