Chain Saw Chuckle 

I own a cat I named Cinnamon. I should probably explain, at this point, that Cinnamon’s name has nothing to do with her color… she is solid black. Neither does she receive her name from any perceived association with the spice derived from either odor or piquancy; in fact, she is quite clean and odor-free, choosing to spend inordinate amounts of time either bathing or sleeping, without exhibiting any of the behaviors known to most kitties such as attacking suspended strings, clawing the drapes or just being a general pain in the ass. I named her Cinnamon because that’s how I hope she’ll taste if I ever have to eat her. With the benefit of hindsight, I now realize that if her demise at my hands were ever to become reality, with respect for my health, maybe I should have named her Waldorf, Cobb or Caesar.

However, if McDonalds continues to stay open twenty-four hours a day, the point should remain moot. But, enough... it's time for me to go polish my statue of W.C. Fields.