"Damn you, and your Chicken!"
Oh, man...
Once every year I find myself feeling the urge to dine at that pillar of grease and chemically altered food-stuffs: Kentucky Fried Chicken.
And every year, after having gourged myself at the altar of fatty poultry... I lay on my couch, my aching abdomen quivering and distended, forehead erupting with sweat, cursing the Colonel and his damned many-teated Chicken Demons.
Why do I do this to myself? It's not really an addiction, since I only eat that stuff once a year, is it? After all, when I was a kid, KFC was the shit (of course, it can never match up to Pioneer's Chicken) and if you could afford to eat it, it was always fun.
You know, I've never had this experience with any other form of fast food... Taco Bell and McDonald's never gave me this much grief. They must be putting some kind of chemical in the Chicken that makes you feel like a Rock Python after swallowing the entire Defensive Line of the 1968 Green Bay Packers... Whoof.
The worst part of all this is as I lay on my side, gassy and bloated... I have to look at the smug grin of that squinty-eyed country hick with his "Gone With The Wind" tie around his neck on the side of the bucket that the "Chicken" comes in... damn his eyes! Is he mocking me from the grave, laughing at me in revenge for his never having gotten any royalties for coming up with the recipe with "10 special herbs and spices"?!
... Ugh... my stomach.
I can practically hear my Mom's haunting laughs in the back of my mind, saying, "What'd you expect, dumb ass?! You should've stayed a Vegan, like me and your step-dad... you dope." And you know what? She's right... oh boy, was she ever right.
But I think the main reason I like KFC isn't the Chicken, it's those damned salty biscuits! Did anyone notice that they don't give you those little pads of Butter to go with your biscuits anymore? Those cheap bastards don't even give you the little plastic packet with the plastic butter knife, spork, napkin and handy-wipes anymore! You know, after I pay $11.50 for 2 bucks worth of chicken, three biscuits, and a side that I don't want... I at least deserve some kind of eating implement! This Mac N' Cheese doesn't scoop itself, Colonel!
... Oooohh... I need a nap.
Snnnooooooorrreeee....
Once every year I find myself feeling the urge to dine at that pillar of grease and chemically altered food-stuffs: Kentucky Fried Chicken.
And every year, after having gourged myself at the altar of fatty poultry... I lay on my couch, my aching abdomen quivering and distended, forehead erupting with sweat, cursing the Colonel and his damned many-teated Chicken Demons.
Why do I do this to myself? It's not really an addiction, since I only eat that stuff once a year, is it? After all, when I was a kid, KFC was the shit (of course, it can never match up to Pioneer's Chicken) and if you could afford to eat it, it was always fun.
You know, I've never had this experience with any other form of fast food... Taco Bell and McDonald's never gave me this much grief. They must be putting some kind of chemical in the Chicken that makes you feel like a Rock Python after swallowing the entire Defensive Line of the 1968 Green Bay Packers... Whoof.
The worst part of all this is as I lay on my side, gassy and bloated... I have to look at the smug grin of that squinty-eyed country hick with his "Gone With The Wind" tie around his neck on the side of the bucket that the "Chicken" comes in... damn his eyes! Is he mocking me from the grave, laughing at me in revenge for his never having gotten any royalties for coming up with the recipe with "10 special herbs and spices"?!
... Ugh... my stomach.
I can practically hear my Mom's haunting laughs in the back of my mind, saying, "What'd you expect, dumb ass?! You should've stayed a Vegan, like me and your step-dad... you dope." And you know what? She's right...
But I think the main reason I like KFC isn't the Chicken, it's those damned salty biscuits! Did anyone notice that they don't give you those little pads of Butter to go with your biscuits anymore? Those cheap bastards don't even give you the little plastic packet with the plastic butter knife, spork, napkin and handy-wipes anymore! You know, after I pay $11.50 for 2 bucks worth of chicken, three biscuits, and a side that I don't want... I at least deserve some kind of eating implement! This Mac N' Cheese doesn't scoop itself, Colonel!
Snnnooooooorrreeee....
posted by Todd Tobin at 11:49 AM
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