Some of my earliest memories are of my favorite food when I entered the heavenly restaurant adorned with golden arches painted on their windows and sweet smells from behind the counter I was too small to look over - a cheeseburger. I consumed these with no abandon, and always washed it down with a medium french fry, adorned ever so elegantly with fancy ketchup and a Sprite. As I got older, my tastes refined and were upgraded to a quarter-pounder - no cheese, this time - a super-size fry, and a large Hi-C orange. After I entered college, I realized I was killing myself slowly Big Pun style, and scaled back to the manageable hamburger, large fry, and medium Sprite. After a few years in college, I kicked the habit, realizing I was no better than the crackheads in downtown Atlanta still looking for their next hit. I swore I was done with that devilishly decadent food. What I didn't know was that my body might not have been done with those burgers I consumed two decades ago - the 1990's - and definitely not the burgers I had eaten as recently as two years ago: