Thursday, April 15, 2010

On the KFC Double Down

I ate one of these monstrosities today.

I have to assume it's some kind of secret Illuminati plot against humanity, designed to slow our hearts and weaken the immune system. The only word I found circling my head as I ordered and stared at this abortion of culinary science was "insidious." The only word I had to describe the taste was "delicious."

Like all great-but-terrible ideas, and some children, this was a purely impulse decision, and I can easily lay about 63% of the blame of Dean McGowan, who claimed that this product could be a new addiction to replace smoking. I could not comment, as my eyes were held wider in awe than they are naturally prone to open.

You see I was on my way to the bathroom this around 6 p.m. when my phone rang. Still tethered by its charging cable, I halted to answer it rather than bring it with me. It was Dean calling.

"Yo, are you near a restroom?"

"Er, yes? Yes, I'm home."

"Oh. But were you about to go to the bathroom at all?"

"Actually, yeah. Why? Are you coming over?" This requires a bit of explanation: Dean has the amazing ability to coincide his visits to my apartment with the precise moments my stomach decides it has done its job for the day and is dumping its workload onto my colon.

"I'm driving home now, yeah. I just– I felt the need to call you and I thought it meant maybe you were in the bathroom already. Can I come over?"

"Yeah, sure. Just, um, give me a minute? In the the bathroom?"


The actual bad decisions came shortly thereafter. We sat around talking for a bit, I inquiring into how Dean's job was, he inquiring on how I manage to possess such nice things while remaining a professional slacker. (The answer is to be surprisingly boring 80% of the time and incredibly interesting only around other people.)

Dean mentioned he was probably going to go get a KFC Double Down for dinner just to try it. I said I'd wanted to do that. He asked if I wanted to come. I said I just needed to put on a clean shirt and a belt.

Sparing the grizzle-y details, the sandwich is actually fairly tasty. "Colonel Sauce" is essentially honey mustard heavy on the mayo, and one piece of chicken will break in half from the outset, but otherwise it's all rather decent. Only 540 calories isn't too bad, but it's the 1300mg of sodium that'll kill you. I substituted the potato wedges in my meal for some coleslaw, so I think I might be safe.

Dean's Choice Quote: "The question isn't how someone came up with this idea, it's how no one came up with it until 2010."

Dave's Choice Quote: "This is exactly why the terrorists want to kill us."

Dean then asked, "Because we're happy?" and insinuated that all women were terrorists, angry at men for being happy. They're terrorists, we're free citizens. I believe the direct quote was, "All women are terrorists. They're mad at men for being happy. They're terrorists, we're free citizens." That is very true, because women would absolutely hate this Orwellian chicken sandwich.

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