Fuck that hamburger with peppers and cheese and make it your bitch

More specifically STEAKHOUSE burger because Burger King has to be pretentious like that. This is also a record for the most profane/badass title I've ever used for an entry. Well I suppose I'm endorsing a badass product so it's fitting. If Burger King comes back at me for "slandering" their pristine and child-friendly reputation, I'll return their burger...on their...shoes.

So much like the "Egg Mcfuck" Dunkin Donuts has been touting with marquis-sized posters for the past month or so, I've been haunted by the giant advertisements for the JALAPENO AND CHEDDER STUFFED STEAKHOUSE BURGER for a while now and I've been putting off spending the six bucks (though it might as well be 4 bucks because their fries are fuckin unbearable) to cover it for all my loyal koolaide drinking followers. Well I guess if I had a cult they'd all be eating double downs and drinking Shamrock Shakes.


On the first bite, the peppers come on kind of strong. Like going for third base in the middle of a movie theater or something. I'll admit that was a strange analogy but the first thing I tasted was pepper. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but I'm pleased to admit that this one gets better the more you devour like a mountain lion. I didn't want the damn thing to end, which is about as big a compliment as I can award any fast food burger. Now I'm starting to think if I wanted to be a real cretin, I could combine two of these bastards and make a bowel-murdering double stacker of pepper.

The cheese element is pretty minimal, but they make up for it with greens and reds (by that I mean vegetables) and a slathering of some kind of house spread. Burger king has become fond of that. You'll notice the bun is serrated. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Are they implying this is more than a typical burger bun? Is there some kind of hidden reference here?

So, suprisingly, I really liked this one. More than the Whiplash Whopper, but then again, I didn't get to feel like Mickey Rourke when I ate it so there is something of a trade off. Not my favorite fast food item of all time (a list I've been thinking of making for a while now...like my own artery blocking oscars) but this one is really solid. The peppers seem to diminish after the first minute or so and you slip into just being sort of high off the flavor.

Wait...am I seriously reviewing this? Am I actually giving CULINARY review? My god someone stop me. When I say I do "food reviews" I mean it in a rhetorical sense.

Stay tuned for the FUCKING THOR SLURPEE POST.

90's rocks LIVES...(in the rainforest)

So 90’s Rocks died a painful death it seems. But now it's back. It's a zombie blog. Scratch that. Fuck zombies. I'm tired of how trendy they are now. I liked them better as the subject of cult films. A lot has happened since the last installment in the chronicling of promotional food items and the unwarranted worship of lowbrow crap intended for children. It’s not really worth opening that can of tuna right now though, when there’s new inspiration afoot for more passionate rambling about the unimportant. The show must go on; though I feel like I’ve said that before on this blog. Sloth can be the vice of men, and I fear I’ll never write another word in my life of my own volition unless I just painfully bring hand to trackpad and sweat it out. So that’s this then. I’m dedicating this post to a certain blogger, whose achievements in the blogosphere make this one look pitiful; but motivated me to keep at it.

This past summer one of my good friends and I traveled to Orlando on what was essentially a suicide mission to meet Mark Hamill (which didn’t even pan out). Apparently now days Mark’s career has devolved into charging over 100 bucks for a photo op. Who does he think he is…Bill Murray? Anyway, while we were taking buses and cabs around the city of dreams hunting down K Marts and Chick Fil A in the ass-kicking heat, I insisted that we go to DOWNTOWN DISNEY. If you’re living a meaningless life, and you’re unfamiliar with Orlando Florida’s layout and in particular the layout of the Disney Parks (which I think I could easily write 10-15 blog posts about) then you’ll know about the subdivision marketplace area lovingly called DOWNTOWN DISNEY. I think this place really peaked in its cool factor for me at the early turn of the century when the phrase “virtual reality” actually fucking meant something. They had this building full of simulators called Disney Quest which was a popular birthday destination. They also had a huge Virgin Records store, which was the first place in the world where I discovered the scent of marijuana. One of the coolest features was this Planet Hollywood gift shop thing which had insanely expensive film props. We’re talking actual Batman Forever costumes and Ewok fur. The things men go to war to protect. When I was younger I was all about the LEGO store there too. All of these good things have been torn down, replaced or metaphorically shit on over the years and I pity the current younger generation that is told that this is what “fun is all about.” You know nothing about fun. It’s not too late though. It’s never too late, as long as Rainforest Café still stands. Motherfuck!


So what drew your attention to Rainforest café? Oh maybe that it’s a giant goddamn volcano? Or maybe the enormous mushroom standing guard of the place. Or maybe the big animatronic alligator howling out of his aged voice chip at the door? Sidenote: We need more animatronic creatures in today’s society. I miss being able to walk into museums and seeing Dinosaurs and then trying to feed them debris against the will of the “No Touching” signs. So if themed food is pretty much the best thing in the world and if y=mx+b, then clearly a themed RESTAURANT is almost too good for the general public to be allowed to even set eyes on. Walking into Rainforest Café is a sensory overload. I can’t even begin to describe it properly. How can I possibly impart that smell of recycled fountain water? I’m just going to close my eyes and put myself there, typing out a stream of consciousness attempting to describe this place to you.

Apes. Big ol lovable apes banging on their boobs. That is a huge fucking parrot. I didn’t know they came in that size. There is a frog on that tree. Oh yes there are trees. Did you like the sky in Harry Potter? That’s good because the sky in here is like the night sky with light up dots on it. Every twenty minutes or so it’s gonna rain so you better be prepared. There are snakes hanging from the ceiling. Copious amounts of Spanish Moss…I’m afraid it’s going to fall onto my plate. How can a grilled cheese be that expensive? Can I try your cocktail mom? They aren’t going to ARREST us for god sakes it looks like tomato juice! Did you guys see how cool the bathrooms are? Boy this place really makes Bugaboo Creek look like the 7th layer of hell doesn’t it? I’m not leaving without at least 20 bucks worth of animal related shit from the gift shop. Airbrushed t-shirts preferable.

And before you know it the whirlwind of pure elation is over and you’re paying the bill leaving mildly hungry but also possibly suffering from indigestion. Rainforest is a fan of the tiny portion, but fuck it who goes there for the food? Someday I’d like to go back to Rainforest when I’m old enough to drink beer like a real man on a safari and get WASTED and crack up at the elephants. I’m pretty sure that the air vents in Rainforest expel pure MDMA or something. The only other restaurant that can get me stoked like this is this Mars 2112 place in New York which has an Alien Motif, complete with costumed assholes. Rainforest is/was a chain as far as I know though, and there were others to attend outside or Orlando. I think that it’s in a vacation spot only adds to the experience though.

I’ve been to Rainforest 2 times in the past decade. That’s about 96 times too few. I think one hundred would be a little excessive. I’m really hoping they stay in business long enough to remain my fall back plan of employment if this whole college thing doesn’t work out. This also might be one of those “You had to be there” type things where if you went there for the first time now like my friend did this summer; as you might be unable to fully appreciate the awe inspiring awesome of Rainforest. So save the trees folks…otherwise there won’t be a reason for Rainforest Café to parody nature anymore; though as far as I’m concerned the world could become a post apocalyptic, carbon monoxide filled wasteland as long as we still celebrated Halloween and there was a Rainforest Café somewhere. And shamrock shakes. Those are really important too. I’ve had 9 of them since the month started. It’s like my very own March Madness minus the sports.

What is this, I don't even...LIME CRUSH?

It's been a long time since I blogged. Most of you probably thought I was dead, or simply just didn't notice my absence and continued with your daily obligations. So what happened? Was I abducted by rapists or aliens or alien rapists? Did I travel the world only to get lost in the Bermuda Triangle (because Christopher Lloyd says NO ONE returns from the Bermuda Triangle) or did I simply lack the motivation to write this blog while I was maintaining regular hours at one of the largest department store chains in the country? Probably the latter. Being back in school and being bored again, the call to write has hit me once more. We're reaching the most exciting season/month out of them all and with costumes and pumpkins comes promotional food product. Anyone who knows me knows that I live for promo food, loaded with preservatives and chock full of food coloring. The more stomach turning it looks and sounds, the more compelled I feel to consume it and write you an essay on why it's great. God has given me a duty to tell you this.

But I'm not ready to get to the Halloween entries yet. Never fear though...because I was walking into the C Store at Emerson today when I saw this wretched concoction:Your eyes don't deceive you, and no Ecto Cooler hasn't been re-bottled. Enter 2010. This is the wave of the future. That repugnant splash of bile in the background is heralding the fresh arrival of lime-ass Crush. I was a bit uncertain at first, but my hand shot towards the bottle with the intensity of Luke trying to grab his lightsaber from the wampa cave. Even the lady working at the C-Store asked me if I'd tried this shit before. I could tell that I was in for some serious shit if even she was wary of it. But there was no backing down now. I don't take heed or recommendations from C Store attendees. I make my own rules. I'm my own man. I drink Lime Crush.

So for the uneducated (or people who drink classiers beverages like wine or something), Crush is that crappy second tier orange pop that is stocked at most 7-11s and fine carbonated beverage retailers. My roommate drinks a shit load of it. I've found that Crush is a pretty good substitute for those purple pills you chew that the dentist gives you to show you when you missed a spot brushing your teeth. Trust me...you ain't going out in public after drinking some Crush. It's lowbrow shit...which is part of the reason I was unwilling to accept it in any flavor besides its designated orange. But then along came lime.

My first inclination was that this would be just like Sprite or 7-Up or some other generic "lemonish" soda. How dead wrong I was. Spirte has a very familiar taste of concentrated Grenadine. This has a distinct taste of LIME juice. Yes, for the first time, a company has made a passing attempt at actually trying to emulate the flavor of one of the most inedible fruits. Imagine melting a bank lolly pop and then adding carbonation and this is what you'd get.

I think the biggest plus for this drink is the coloring. Sprite, Sierra Mist and the other "lemon lime" (this one is just lime) drinks are just clear colored every-man's sodas. This one is a murky ecto-plasmic color of green...you know...the kind that would stain your teeth and make you feel like a lesser individual for drinking it. When I first picked up the bottle I thought it was just tinted green like some Dew..but no...the stuff is actually Frog Piss colored. This adds a major appeal, as you know that I love some green food. (Have I written about shamrock shakes yet?)

So all in all, my verdict is that on occasion I think I'll be able to endure a Lime Crush and prentend it's alot classier than it actually is. I didn't enjoy it though and it sure felt sticky. I think on the regular basis I'll stick to the old stand bys. Promotional cereal works. Promotional candy works. I'm not sure about promotional sodas...the scary thing is that Lime Crush is here to stay. I'm ok with that as long as they phase out the orange shit and leave it to Fanta to market it to us with hotter versions of Chiquita Banana. I feel like Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger force can be the spokesmen for Lime Crush.

I'm including "America" among the tags for this entry.

Nothing could inspire me to write like the Whiplash Whopper

I got to admit, bloggings been slow lately. If I had..*coughs coughs*...more of an avid readership, it might inspire me to get my ass in gear a little bit and crank out more beautiful pieces of prose worthy of being stored in the white house library. Finding a subject is often hard. Actually it's not hard at all, because I could just as easily write about Batman every single entry, which would double as a case study on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and later submit my work to various psychiatric journals. In turn I'm sure I would receive slight monetary compensation, which would only be fair once the number of applied jobs that rejected me were factored in. You might be wondering why I'm sitting here writing a blog instead of working right now...it is the summer after all. Well I'm glad you asked. Let me tell you a bit about my summer plans.

1. Get Job
2. Eat as much decadent unhealthy food as possible for the sheer purpose of cultural analysis (that's my excuse de jour) and hopefully crank out some kind of magnum opus that leads to a job.
3. Edit a film...or something. Some kind of leisurely arts and crafts project that would in no way further my career.
4. Never be sarcastic.

So in the process of hunting jobs, I couldn't help but press my face up against the glass at burger kind when I spotted this challenging advertisement.
In a similar fashion to how CiCi's pizza or a buffet can be considered a "challenge" a seasonal gigantic menu item at burger king can also fall under that category. If you read my last entry, you'll know that Iron Man 2 is all the rage right now and whether it was the best movie or not, if there's one thing I love more than life itself it's goddamn hype. Whiplash, Ivan Vanko, is the villain (or one of them) in Iron Man. He's a big leathery, grotesque tatooed ruskie with an S&M harness on his chest and two electric whips. He mildly makes shit difficult for Iron Man but eventually of course he gets killed pretty easily.

The important thing to consider here is, THIS IS MICKEY ROURKE. Mickey Rourke is a hardass worn out piece of shit. I've often been awake at night wondering what kind of burger a guy like that eats. What kind of food, could you possibly mash together and put on a bun under the bracket of "hamburger" that would satisfy a destructive looking man like that? Bacon seems to be the obvious choice, but bacon's the obvious answer in ANY situation. I'd searched for countless hours, pouring over recipe books at 4 in the morning for the answer. Burger King seems to have beat me to the punch and found the answer in the shredded/fried onion things on the whiplash whopper.

I'm not entirely sure they were onions actually. They're more like the little bits of crunchy shit that I pour down my throat after finished a box of popcorn chicken. Nothing distinctly onionish about them. They just add that required surliness to call this thing a WHIPLASH whopper. There's also a smattering of lettuce and tomatoes and shit. Don't believe me? I don't care if you do. Here's a pic I took half way through eating this monstrosity:Looks like too much tomato and not enough bacon to me. Note the small pieces of onion shit chunk smattered about the greasy wrapper sitting on my lap. You might also notice I'm holding it with a napkin. While I normally do this, because I'm not a fan of horse grease, this particular whopper gave me an everyman's excuse to do so. Thing was DRIPPING in what appeared to be cheese whiz. The official website calls it like a special mayonaise sauce or something but I call bullshit. I know melted cheese whiz when I see it. Too many experiments in my youth with microwavable hot dogs in the oven has taught me better. The cheese is pepperjack cheese, so at the end of the day, this is a spicy one.

The feeling of queasiness after eating this one passed in about 4 hours and I was able to reflect on my life a little bit in that time. Will movie hype always be exciting? Why were there no happy meal toys for the Dark Knight? Would I have been man enough to stand at the counter and ask for them if there had been? Would I EVER get around to writing that hyperbole-filled blog entry on the burger I'd consumed? It was all leading somewhere.

It IS leading somewhere.

I'm not going to condone the Whiplash Whopper. Nor am I going to condemn it as a bad product. If it sounds enticing to you and you want to feel like Mickey Rourke and slop over a meatwhich covered in cheese whiz for five minute muttering shit in a russian accent, than be my guest. This review ended up being my pure stream of consciousness about something that's probably undeserving of so many paragraphs. It's actually just a warm up my friends. The worst motherfucker in the food industry will be blogged about later this week. I've been gearing up to it. Training my stomach. Pouring over the articles of terrified health nuts...yes. I am going to consume the KFC DOUBLE DOWN.

and you all are going to read about it. If you're reading this far then I know you are.

love,
matt (part time whiplash)