There is nothing fun or cute about the Most American Thickburger, the newest monstrosity from Carl’s Jr. Much like the American Dream, it is the sale of an empty promise that leaves you both malnourished and obese.

Carl’s Jr. hates America. There’s no other way to describe the utter contempt they display for our nation when they announced its name.

It’s a standard Carl’s Jr. cheeseburger—one fat, dried-out patty, plastic cheese, red onions, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes, ketchup and mustard—but this time, they decided to crank up the price and add a boiled 25-cent hotdog and a bed of kettle-cooked potato chips.

You have to admit, that is American to the utmost degree. Much like its namesake, this burger craves spectacle over substance, favors shoddy materials and cares so little about your well-being that it actively seeks to destroy you for a quick profit.

It was kind of a fun idea. People often undervalue chips in sandwiches, much as they do french fries in vanilla milkshakes. Plus, a grilled hot dog could add a textured edge, maybe another aspect of smokiness to round out a compact and convenient one-and-done picnic experience.

But here, what you get is a split dinky-ass pink-slime dog, clearly boiled, clearly unloved, atop a mountain of waste that can’t even hold itself together long enough for you to be disappointed by the taste. Eating this and eating a bucket of lard have much in common (the hot dog providing the lard, the chips providing the crunch of the bucket).

It didn’t even take more than five bites for my guts to send out desperate emergency signals.

“Something’s awry,” I sensed it nervously whispering. “This isn’t food.”

You can expect to waste about $10 on a combo with the half-pound variant of this scam. I’m ashamed that I even wanted to try this.

Even worse, there wasn’t even a hot dog on mine when I went earlier today.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk up to another human being and say, “Excuse me, but this hamburger doesn’t have a hot dog in it?”

You might as well put that question on my tombstone and pretend to act confused if people ask what happened to me.

And you will have to carve that tombstone, because just a small fry and the half-pound Most American Thickburger, no drink, deluges you in 1,550 calories, 96 grams of fat and 3,900 milligrams of sodium. That’s about 1,600 milligrams of sodium more than the recommended daily intake.

If vomitoria ever actually existed (excluding the very real Golden Corral, of course), this is the burger they would serve to the guests in their first cycle of binge-and-purge.

Just say no, America.