We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming of waiting, breath bated, for the second part of my tirade against shitty television doctor shows* to bring you this exciting, unrelated update:
So, the other day while watching Stripes I was reminded of yet another weird, inexplicable childhood crush: John Larroquette. Yes, that's right; the creepy, hypersexual, womanizing lawyer from Night Court.
Seriously? WTF was wrong with adolescent me?
Oh, but also? I forgot about another crush who just so happened to appear in Stripes alongside John Larroquette and a previously mentioned youthful love interest, Bill Murray: John Candy. Except, wait. Not him. Actually, Judge Reinhold.
So, just in case any of you missed this in the last post (always mouseover pictures, people--there's gold [or at least dirt] in them thar hills), I really feel the need to point this out:
Fig. 1-1 Mysterious Pubic Hair
Don't ask me why there is a random pubic hair on the plate. There just is.
I purchased, documented, and consumed the motherfucking KFC Double Down on its release day. All in the name of science/journalism/public education/social justice/etc., naturally.
"But, Sarah," you say between bites of Double Down, Colonel's Sauce dribbling down your shiny double chin, "if you sampled KFC's new abomination/masterpiece (one could call it, perhaps, an "abominasterpiece"?) over three weeks ago, why has it taken you so long to share the Good News with us, your loyal readers/creepy stalkers/random people who come to your blog via searches for weird shit like 'college teachers boobz' and 'enormous snatch'*?"
The answer is simple, my friends: after consuming an abominasterpiece of such epic proportions, my Fried Chicken Shame Spiral (FCSS) tailspinned my ass into a state of altered consciousness, causing me to wander in a Carlos Castaneda-esque state for several weeks. When I finally came to my senses, I was cramming used band-aids into my mouth whilst squatting in the ruins of the Beach Waterpark. In Mason, Ohio. It was kind of weird.
But all that's behind us now. Let's just put that silliness out of our minds and forge ahead with the task at hand: my consumption of the KFC Double Down.
First, let's view the photographic evidence:
Ta-daaaaa!
Wow. That was totally like a classy photo essay that one would see, perhaps, hung in some sort of high-end museum or shitty cafe. Or perhaps a shitty museum and a high-end cafe. Either way, I wouldn't be caught dead there, as I hate all varieties of museums and cafes. Because they're for pretentious assholes. "Oh, look at me! I'm in a café! I drink fancy coffee drinks and most certainly don't eat peon-oriented things like the KFC Double Down! Let's go to that múséúm and look at árt! La dee dah!" You know?
Whatever.
Let's get down to the nitty-gritty: the taste test.
So, basically the Double Down was what you would expect from any standard fast food establishment: kind of good, kind of gross. The end.
What? You want a more in-depth description? Fine, I'll break it down:
Contributing factors to "good": fried; bacon; cheese; mayonnaise (apparently, "Colonel's Sauce" equals a mildly spicy mayonnaise).
Contributing factors to "gross": fried; bacon; cheese; mayonnaise.
The thing is, food like this is scientifically calibrated to taste relatively good. They make sure all the right taste chemicals are present to hit all the right spots: salt, fat, sweet, bacon. So it would be pretty much impossible for the Double Down to be a total flop.
The other thing is, food like this is fucking gross. Greasy, heavy, simultaneously weirdly bland and yet overly flavored...Plus, seriously, there's just too much fucking chicken involved in the Double Down. The Mister and I split one between us (because, really, we would have felt so incredibly dirty to actually eat one apiece) and I could barely choke down my entire half. I like chicken and all, but Jesus Christ on Roller Skates--that's a lot of goddamn chicken!
Overall, I would rate the Double Down as a decided "meh." Did I enjoy it? Kind of, but mostly on an anthropological level. Would I order it again? Hellz no. On top of making me feel fairly gross and giving me a case of chickenbellyitis, them shit's expensive! Just the sandwich by itself cost nearly $6. And I would so much rather spend that kind of money on something both tasty and good for me--like a Five Guys bacon cheeseburger with everything on it.
Hellz yeah.
*These are, indeed, actual searches that brought people to this site. I feel simultaneously proud and horrified: prourrified.
Dear Anyone Under the Age of, Oh, 55 and Who is of No Relation to Me/Isn't Sanctioned to Stick Anything in My Hooha:
How R U? Isn't it fun being under the age of 55 and of no relation to me/not sanctioned to stick anything in my hooha? I totes agree, for shizzle! OMG, LOL, etc.
However, here's the deally, yo: Don't call me "Hon." Or "Darlin'." Or "Dear." Or "Babe." Or "Sweetie." Or whatever the fuck else annoying, patronizing term of familiarity you choose to unnecessarily tack on to the end of your sentence which is directed at me. Or I will punch you in the fucking throat.
I'm not exactly sure what you feel you are accomplishing by doing this, but it needs to stop. It's not cute; it's condescending.
Take special heed of this warning if you are a young woman who is
approximately in my age bracket, and take doubleplus heed if you are obviously
younger than me. I realize that I have a fresh-faced, youthful appearance*, but I'm clearly not 8-fucking-years-old and you are clearly not a frazzled, middle-aged Jersey diner waitress named Flo.
Fuck off.
Love,
Sarah
*The other day a drunk homeless dude told me that I don't look a day over eighteen. Then he asked if I was married. Everything's coming up Milhouse!
But, hey, guess what? It's your lucky day: that KFC-based non-memory about my hatred of ridiculous fast food gimmicks can now be replaced with a KFC-based real-memory about my hatred of ridiculous fast food gimmicks. Don't say I never do anything for you. Or to you. But maybe we shouldn't get into that right now.
Ahem.
And now, without further ado, I would like to present for your mocking/secret, shameful eating in your car before you get home from work...
The KFC Double Down!!!*
Yes, that's right. A sandwich composed of meat, meat, cheese, and sauce. No bun. Oh, but wait. There is a bun. And it's made out of motherfucking fried chicken, bitches!
Here's what the KFC website has to say:
This one-of-a-kind sandwich features two thick and juicy boneless white
meat chicken filets (Original Recipe® or Grilled), two pieces of bacon,
two melted slices of Monterey Jack and pepper jack cheese and Colonel's
Sauce. This product is so meaty, there’s no room for a bun!
There's really so much I could say about that paragraph, I don't even know where to begin. Oh, but how about this: what the fuck is "Colonel's Sauce"? And, really, could they have used a less appetizing/more sexually suggestive phrase than "this product is so meaty"? Also, if you're going to abandon your last, tattered shred of dignity and actually order this pile of ridiculousness, why in the good Lord's name would you puss out and get it with grilled chicken? I mean, come on. Don't be a weenis. Also, don't be a wenis.
So. The Double Down is hitting America's collective sweaty thighs on April 12th. "But Sarah," you say, "I have a busy work/school/fast food schedule. I don't have time to remember what days new and ridiculous sandwiches are released to the public!" Well, never fear, you busy beavers: there's a handy countdown clock.
If you follow the above link you can also watch the official commercial for the Double Down, which pretty much makes it clear that this is a MAN SANDWICH, and not some sort of faggy, Atkins Diet-type thing. Thank god.
Now, I understand that the knee-jerk reaction to the Double Down (following the pre-knee-jerk reaction of "I want to eat that," of course) is some amalgamation of horror/disgust/bewilderment caused by America's ever expanding capacity for grossness. However, because I have such stringent standards for this blog, and because I am so totally fucking scientific, but really, mostly, because I care about you so very much, dear reader, I did some extremely rigorous caloric comparison research**. And, amazingly enough, it turns out it's not so bad. If you don't believe me, just examine the following Scientific Food Chart of Science (SFCS):
KFC Double Down: 540 calories, 32 grams of fat
Carl's Jr.
Original Six Dollar Burger: 890 calories, 54 grams of fat
McDonald's
Big Mac: 540 calories, 29 grams of fat
As you can see thanks to the fabulous SFCS above, the Double Down is comparable to a Big Mac and actually comes out way ahead of the Six Dollar Burger. Surprising, no? See, that's what happens when you let your jerky knees do all your thinking for you: you potentially miss out on an awesome, ridiculous, horrible, über-gimmicky sandwich.
If you need further convincing of the Double Down's not-quite-as-horrible-as-you-thought-it-was-ness, you can feel somewhat comforted by something a friend pointed out earlier today: "It's the American [Chicken] Cordon Bleu." Fair enough. And classy. Eat this potentially delicious abomination and feel classy, America!
Wait, WTF?? When did this post morph from a rant into me trying to convince you to eat the Double Down? Oh, yeah. I know. It was when I decided that I definitely have to try this at least once, way back at the beginning of the post***.
I will drag you into my Fried Chicken Shame Spiral (FCSS).
FCSS for life!
* You know I'm serious about this, because I used three goddamn exclamation points.
** I went to three websites.
*** Remember that whole "shameful eating in your car before you get home
from work" thing? That will undoubtedly prove to be autobiographical. Sigh.
So, I have this problem at parties wherein I end up parking myself next to the food area (FA) all goddamn night. Maybe it's not actually a problem...but I'm pretty sure it is. (Furthermore, when I'm at some sort of function that doesn't have an FA, I tend to get a little huffy/unsure of where I'm supposed to stand all goddamn night. That's definitely a problem.)
The other night I was at a lovely affair that featured a Very Nice Spread (VNS), which included cute little sandwiches, fruits/veggies, and candy. And cheese. Little, delicious cubes of various varieties of cheese. And every time I filled up my plate for another go-round, I would select two cubes from each variety and think to myself:
So, I was looking through my Flickr account and I realized that I never shared any pictures from our awferful honeymoon in Athens. WTF? I uploaded them and wrote little descriptions almost exactly two years ago and then did...nothing. Shocking.
At any rate, here they are. Oh, and be prepared: these are only pictures of food. Because that's the most important part of vacation. Obviously.
Can I tell you how much I've been fantasizing about warm weather lately? Well, it's a lot. We had a couple of days recently where the temperature crept up into the 50s--which was was enough to whip me into a frenzy of warm
weather obsession.
As I've mentioned in several other posts (which I'm not bothering to link to right now [partially because I'm too lazy and partially because, really, who cares?]), I absolutely love being outside in pleasant weather (and, specifically, being outside on summer evenings). And, actually, to be even more specific, I love being lazy outside in pleasant weather.
These are the things I want to do right now:
1) Go for a walk. I'm lucky enough to live in an area with a plethora of parks (and piñatas! [But, actually, no, not piñatas; just a library--but that's pretty exciting too.]) within walking distance. In warmer times, I go for a walk nearly every early evening, usually completing a circuit around 3 or 4 of the aforementioned parks. Oh, long walks: I want to go to there. (But wait, you say--an hours-long walk doesn't exactly sound like a lazy activity. But, actually, it is. I go really slow and sing along with my iPod and frequently lie down in the grass for awhile...I'm good at tailoring physical activity to my special needs.)
2) Lie in the grass. See above.
3) Wear a tanktop. Wearing one (under a long sleeve shirt, under a sweatshirt) under my Slanket doesn't count.
4) Eat ice cream/popsicles outside. I don't think this one needs any explanation.
5) Eat anything outside, for that matter. Barbecues, patio seating, picnics...They will be mine. Oh, yes; they will be mine. Eventually.
4) Go to a baseball game. As a wise man once said, "The Dukes are comin' out: comin' out swingin'; hustlin' all the way." Er, I mean...go 'Topes. (The Duke was an infinitely cooler mascot than Orbit, but I do so enjoy the chile/salsa race around the diamond...)
Rather than starting out this post by actually making a hilarious
pop culture reference, I'm going to merely list the three pop
culture references that have been jockeying for position in my brain. I'm notorious (in some circles) for deciding not to actually say whatever terribly vulgar/delightfully witty joke I've just thought of and instead going into a rambling explanation of "well, I was going to say something about [insert basic components of terribly vulgar/delightfully witty joke without said components actually being assembled into actual joke format, thus decreasing the hilarity quotient by a significant degree], but then I decided not to." It goes over really well, typically.
So. Anyhoo*.
I was going to begin this post by inserting some sort of reference to:
1) Lionel Richie. Specifically, the song "Hello." Oh, wait. I just did it in the title. Forget about this one.
2) Milhouse. Specifically, "Everything's coming up Milhouse!" And, yes, there is a website.
3) Mac from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Specifically, "What's up bitches!?" That's pretty much the only thing he contributes to the show. Everyone knows that Charlie and Dee are the truly important people. Then again, I haven't watched it in awhile...
...But then I decided not to. See, wasn't that significantly less funny than it would have been if I had actually just made the reference(s)? Awesome!
Okay, so let's get down to the nitty-gritty folks: I've been absent a long-ass time. I never call, I never write, I drank all your mom's "special" wine and then tried to fill the bottle up with grape juice...In short, I've been a bad friend. But you know what? Whatever. I'm back now, and you should just stop all your moaning and bitching and appreciate me for the special flower that I am.
Plus, I have so many exciting things complain about. And I know that's the only reason why you're here. That, and the fact that the only thing on the Olympic coverage right now is the biathlon, and that's some boring ass shit. (Wow, all these classes at CNM are finally paying off! I'm some kind of fucking Photoshop genius.)
So. I'm still going to CNM (for web design and development, for those of you who don't actually pay attention to what I talk about...Mom. [But, seriously, do you think I'd tell my Mom about this blog? A) She's afraid to even touch a computer, and B) I talk waaaay too much about my vagina on here.]) This term is awesome, as I got all the stupid bullshit classes out of the way and now I'm only taking stuff that I actually want to learn about--huzzah!
Which reminds me: I have sooooo many things to tell you about a bullshit class I had last term. I can't even believe it. But that will have to wait.
Back to the present.
...Wow, I'm actually having a hard time deciding which ridiculous community college-related anecdote to share first...It's an embarrassment of depressing, infuriating, hilarious riches!
How about this: I'll save the actual sharing of anecdotes for next time. Watching that clip of Charlie and Dee (above) sent me into a fit of shrieking/crying laughter and now I'm totally distracted from the cause...
Until next time, gentle reader.
*Can we just talk about "anyhoo for a minute? Thanks. So, for some reason I feel compelled to use "anyhoo" when I'm writing, but it is something that I never actually say out loud, because, jesus, it just sounds stupid. I apologize for its proliferation in my posts (and can only assume its presence has something to do with all the...um...opium? Is that what the kids are doing these days?).
