So, as I said in my anime update a while back, I’ve been watching a couple new series. My favourite of which is Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt. P&SwG is perhaps the finest series I have seen to come out of Gainax’s doors since Evangelion, and that’s saying something. The Roger Ebert criteria states that we should judge every project by what it’s trying to be and see if it achieves that. Panty & Stocking wants to be the most extremely obscene and filthy show on Japanese TV. And boy howdy does it deliver.

Brief, Panty’s teenage admirer in a Ghostbuster suit, has been nicknamed Foreskin Boy and Phimosis Boy by the object of his affections. Last week, the ghosts were the semen of every man in Daten City who had jacked off that week, unable to be released. There was a nude run for charity in which everyone had to hand over their … under… wear…

Is my mom gone yet? Okay, SO I went to KFC for the first time today. I intend on making it my last. However, I, Chad and Dave got the KFC Double Down. And let me tell you, that sandwich is just plain disgusting. It’s two pieces of homefried chicken with bacon, cheese and “special sauce” sandwiched between them. This is not a sandwich. This is possibly the worst thing to ever exist in any form ever. This is the HighSchool of the Dead of sandwiches. Someone at KFC legitimately thought that by upping the chicken, upping the cheese, adding bacon and removing the bread that they could make a sandwich that was legitimately good. Instead, what they have made is the worst sandwich ever created.

And let me tell you, this was a delight to eat. I hated every moment of that fatty, salty, cheesey, sugary goodness. It made me feel ashamed, achey, fat and wonderful. I never want to look at another Double Down again. That sandwich should have logically been the death of me. The chicken tasted less like chicken and more like mud that had been formed into the shape of a grey, tasteless sludge. I should probably start at the beginning of this story.

So, Chad and I are talking about how his friend Dave is coming into town in a couple days, staying with their mutual friend Chris. And Chad says that to celebrate the occasion, they’re all gonna go out and get Double Downs. The Double Down is, in case you haven’t heard, a sandwich that’s about to be sued out of Canada. It is two deep fried and battered chicken breasts, a couple slices of monterey jack cheese, cheddar jalepeno mayonnaise and two strips of bacon. It has more salt in one “sandwich” than you need in an entire day. It is part of a new style of fast food, the HYPERCALORIC food. It has so many calories in one serving that you should die on the spot from eating it. So you know what I say when Chad says “Yo Joe, wanna come with and get Double Downs?”

Actually, he never asked. And actually, I volunteered to come with. And actually, I did so readily. I almost organized the entire day around it. So Dave was supposed to get in Friday, but he couldn’t manage it, so we had to reschedule to Monday. I spent my entire weekend in anticipation to sitting down at that table and sinking my teeth into that double breasted awfulness. Mel, I’m sorry, but when I was with you, I was thinking of the Double Down. Ailish, my thoughts were elsewhere during our texting. Mom, I hope you’re not reading this.

So, I’m sitting at home after work today. I’m in my underpants, watching my Twitter feed roll in when I get a text from Chad saying “You free?” HELL YES I WAS FREE. I booked my ass down forty minutes walking to Chris’s place to meet up with him, Dave and Chad, asking for directions the entire time. I was not prepared to walk that far, but as I’m also walking to work tomorrow, I guess I’ve earned my increased physical activity this week. We head off to KFC.

In line, all we can do is giggle about how we’re all here for the Double Down. We have to act like we aren’t there just for the bile fascination of eating a sandwich comprised of two chicken breasts, bacon, cheese and sauce. We’re laughing like loons while the staff look at us, wondering what we’re doing with our lives that our only entertainments can be coming to KFC to eat Double Downs. Is it right to eat food based solely on its memetacularity? It’s like if Mega64 jumped off a cliff, all of a sudden we’re all jumping. But hey, screw it, that sandwich is the awful best.

While eating it, every song that came on the radio was worse than the last. It was like the restaurant staff had reserved judgment on us, only for the radio to judge us in its stead. It started with Katy Perry. It climaxed in “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley. I am not kidding you, K-Lite FM rickroll’d us while we were eating our sandwiches. Or, should I say, while Chad, Dave and I were eating our sandwiches. Cos Chris, in case you hadn’t gathered previously was too cowardly to have one. His excuse was that he had no money. His real reason is that he’s a terrible coward.

So yeah, that’s my story of the Double Down. While eating it, Dave and I lost our senses of taste. I lost my sense of self. I goaded several strangers walking outside the KFC to cheer me on as I wolfed that sucker down. I saw at least two joggers pass by the window and felt an endless shame at my gluttony. And all of this was on the day I was supposed to vote. Which I ended up doing! But at the end of the day, I obstinately refuse to regret taking down the Double Down.

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