I've heard it said: Don't ever meet your heroes, they're never what they seem. This is likely true, for the most part, otherwise there'd never be such a warning. I've met a few people that I've looked up to, and (so far) they've been quite humble and respectable. I'd never consider bacon, on the other hand, to be heroic, nor an idol to look upon fondly, although I do love that smokey taste when it's being gnarled between my teeth. That being said, when the commercials for the new "Bacon-Wrapped Crust Pizza" from Little Caesar's began their shock and awe barrage on public television, I knew it was only a matter of time until I would visit the pizza chain.
I used to consume a shit-ton of fast food. I'm lazy and tend to procrastinate a lot, so the thought of driving up to an establishment, paying for a tasty treat that required very little more than wiping my mouth and fingers with a moist towelette, was very appealing. Unfortunately, several pounds later and a sad case of Type II diabetes, it's a rare treat, these days. Unreasonable prices are also a major factor, though the spare tire around my middle section, should be suffice enough.
One contributor to the nastiness is KFC. Generally, I would visit Kentucky Fried Chicken once a year, consume the chicken accompanied by their amazing gravy, then reap the uncomfortable sickness that would follow. Like the consumption of alcohol, I would use this single experience like a Litmus Test. A reminder as to why I don't submit myself to this kind of pain and discomfort more often within the calendar year.
I wouldn't categorize myself as an alcoholic, but the effects of sadness and depression that follow any drinking excursion isn't something I particularly look forward to and therefore reserve inebriation to once or twice a year. It's pretty much all I can take. I'm not a believer that a person can go for one or two drinks. I do believe, on the other hand, that intoxicating oneself to complete annihilation, should be the goal. For the most part, I find alcoholic beverages to taste tremendously bad, so why put yourself through that dissatisfaction, if there's no goal of inebriation to achieve?
I digress. I'm getting completely off topic, to which I apologize.
Earlier this month, some coupons came in the mail and the varying pictures of KFC chicken became appealing to me. I was about due for my yearly trek through intestinal hell, so I ventured down to the neighbourhood KFC and got a small four piece and brought it home. However, the gut aches and feeling of vomiting that normally piggybacks the experience never came, although the meal was every bit as greasy and disgusting, as usual. A couple weeks later, those coupons crossed my view and again I found myself placing an order for a four piece chicken box. Once more, no nausea. "What the f**k?!" I thought to myself. A couple weeks later, this past Friday, I again went down and picked up a ten-piece bucket, this time and no nausea. No feeling of dread or yearning to vomit. "Strange!" I thought.
I used to consume a shit-ton of fast food. I'm lazy and tend to procrastinate a lot, so the thought of driving up to an establishment, paying for a tasty treat that required very little more than wiping my mouth and fingers with a moist towelette, was very appealing. Unfortunately, several pounds later and a sad case of Type II diabetes, it's a rare treat, these days. Unreasonable prices are also a major factor, though the spare tire around my middle section, should be suffice enough.
One contributor to the nastiness is KFC. Generally, I would visit Kentucky Fried Chicken once a year, consume the chicken accompanied by their amazing gravy, then reap the uncomfortable sickness that would follow. Like the consumption of alcohol, I would use this single experience like a Litmus Test. A reminder as to why I don't submit myself to this kind of pain and discomfort more often within the calendar year.
I wouldn't categorize myself as an alcoholic, but the effects of sadness and depression that follow any drinking excursion isn't something I particularly look forward to and therefore reserve inebriation to once or twice a year. It's pretty much all I can take. I'm not a believer that a person can go for one or two drinks. I do believe, on the other hand, that intoxicating oneself to complete annihilation, should be the goal. For the most part, I find alcoholic beverages to taste tremendously bad, so why put yourself through that dissatisfaction, if there's no goal of inebriation to achieve?
I digress. I'm getting completely off topic, to which I apologize.
Earlier this month, some coupons came in the mail and the varying pictures of KFC chicken became appealing to me. I was about due for my yearly trek through intestinal hell, so I ventured down to the neighbourhood KFC and got a small four piece and brought it home. However, the gut aches and feeling of vomiting that normally piggybacks the experience never came, although the meal was every bit as greasy and disgusting, as usual. A couple weeks later, those coupons crossed my view and again I found myself placing an order for a four piece chicken box. Once more, no nausea. "What the f**k?!" I thought to myself. A couple weeks later, this past Friday, I again went down and picked up a ten-piece bucket, this time and no nausea. No feeling of dread or yearning to vomit. "Strange!" I thought.
Days earlier, I'd broken down and visited Little Caesar's and bought the Bacon-Wrapped Crust Pizza that has been mercilessly prostituted on television for the past couple of months. The images of the pizza in the commercial look so delectable and mouth-watering. I could hardly contain myself when the clerk handed over my pizza. I raced home and was horrified by the reality of the situation. It was like one of those before and after pictures of Rihanna after a date with Chris Brown. The beauty I was expecting to see, was just a beat up tramp. My Bacon-Wrapped pizza was little more than a punching bag placed into a box.
It's appearance was a train wreck. It smelled marginally better than it looked, but it's taste was equally, if not worse, than it's appearance. What followed was all the experiences and memories I've ever had that was normally reserved for KFC. It was a horrific experience. I wound up lying on my couch in a ball, sweating heavily and fighting off the urge to puke. I do not recommend that pizza to people. Not unless you're bulimic. You won't need to stick a finger down your throat, as odds are, the pizza will do that for you.
It's a sad sad day when I, of all people, have to admit that Kentucky Fried Chicken is better than pizza, but in this case I think it's gospel. Little Caesar's has turned my off of pizza and I doubt I'll be eating pizza again for quite some time. Thankfully, when I do, it'll be from a more reputable establishment and not some shit-hole vying for legitimacy in the forum with a cheap gimmick.
My coupons expire today, so I shan't be returning to the neighbourhood KFC, which my waistband and my colon are grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment