My trip to Tijuana

I really wanted to write an inspiring blog, chock full of thematic weight and revolutionary ideas. That’s a work in progress though, and I’ll allow you to believe I have something up my sleeve that will leave you coming back on a daily basis waiting for the instructions to the first phase of Project Mayhem. In the meantime I wanted to eek out a quickie if for no greater reason than to have done something at least mildly productive for the week. I don’t think one blawg poast a week is too much to ask do you? Anyway as I’m biding my time thinking of lengthier, tear-inducing entries I wanted to write about an incredible voyage I took this week.

In the past year I’ve been struggling with the concept of being a racial minority for the second time in my life. Here in East Boston, I’d say if you don’t speak Spanish you’re fucked. Thankfully, not only do I speak nominal Spanish, but I also hoof it from my house to the T stop any time I’m actually caught outdoors. Got to avoid that sunlight right? But every time I pass by Maverick Square I must pause….the smell…it’s fondling my face with gigantic Mexican hands. It’s the awe inspiring smell of Pollo Campero. I’ve long been putting off a trip to the place, but then the cosmos aligned and the moment was right for inevitable showdown with fate. (I always get funny looks taking pictures of shit in fast food establishments)

I walked into Tijuana. It was like Platform 9 and 3/4ths straight into Mexico. Not a single word of English other than those loudly blurted out by me were uttered in the place. Not even an attempt at it. Upon googling Pollo Campero, it’s like an immersion project being tested in the United States; it’s not even a wide released fast food chain! Upon looking at the menu I discovered it was almost identical to the mcdonalds in the same block, except with Chicken Burritos. The choice of what to get was painfully obvious, though I did have to place my order about 37 times before the translation was successful and the burrito was launched into the deep fryer. I’m treading on thin ice with this blog I think. The truth must be told though.

(the proof)

Here’s the real kicker. Inside there was a little old Chinese man (like the shopkeeper in Gremlins) selling pirated DVDs inside slipcases. Like NEW releases. He was going around cat calling to people and getting them to come over and look at his pile, right behind the counter of the restaurant. I had to comically rub my eyes a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. No other establishment in the world would allow that to fly. Nowhere. Well, having missed out on the new horror flick Insidious in theaters the other day, I flipped through his stack. Five bucks for a brand new film that’s still in theaters really isn’t a bad deal. He even had Sucker Punch, quite possibly the most offensive turd that’s been flung at the pictures business since Catfish. I politely passed on his wares, but I don’t think I can unsee what I saw. Cheap deeveedees….new ones…I might have to journey back South of the Border and take my business to the movie peddler. No wonder the Blockbuster next door went out of business.

bedebedebede that's all folks

OH DAMN THATS SOME GOOD SHIT OH DAMN: WINTER MOUNTAIN DEW

Holy shitfuck a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! The first of the season. It’s funny how fate vomits things in your lap at your lowest and most desperate moments of despair. I was literally just in class writing a meaningful blog post about BATMAN: The Animated Series, a subject which I care about in a non-ironic sense. I started to half-heartedly begin my blog by complaining that there’s a lack of topical subjects to write about. I mean after all, it’s the season of CVS raids and good tidings, and I don’t have any sort of holiday themed bullshit to rant about how great it is. Maybe I’m just not feeling it this year. Anyways, there I was taking a trip to the C store to find some kind of drink to placate me in my daily lack of nutrition. I still had some residual Reeses pieces in my backpack (you’re reading first hand an admission of my hedonistic existence) to tied me over from a physical comestible perspective. I found some Lime Crush, which you probably don’t remember me reviewing a couple months back when I was enjoying life. I got to the counter and presented it to the overlord of the C Store when I saw it. It was a white liquid. Blue label. Winter themed. Dues Ex Machina Mtn. Dew. Mountain Dew White Out.

I’m not a fan of the Dew. It’s too caffeinated and it looks like green piss to me. It took some cajones forcing myself to buy some new flavor of mountain dew just because the bottle stated it was indoctrinated as permanent product due to a “Dewmacratic process”. It promised me that sometime last year or so, thousands of people actually bothered to go online and cast a vote for this flavor of Mountain Dew because they believed it was that good of shit. Seriously…how fucking awesome can a food or beverage be that you have to bother to go online and document your experiences with eating it? Oh wait. I guess I’m kind of an exception. But I do it from an ironic perspective. Half of this blog is hyperbole. This my friends, is the first food product written up here that I can officially endorse. As soon as I had my first sip I had formed my decision.

Oh damn. That’s some good shit. Oh damn. I haven’t used this loving phrase in a long time for ANYTHING. Keep in mind this ain’t no colloquialism of mine and I don’t toss it around lightly. Oh Damn That’s some Good Shit (ODTSGS) means that the product I’m referring to is life-changing and mind numbingly fucking awesome. Not only did slurping down this white stuff ramp me up with energy but it also tasted great. Read that sentence back to yourself and see if it makes you giggle.

I like the artic. I like glacial properties. Blue, idealized, fictional summits of ice, where penguins from Mario slide down the tops of cheerful moonlit slopes and party in fountains of youth to Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz all night. Polar Bears are drowning themselves in Coca Cola like Bacchus. The maritime varmit I presently spoke of in my review of the KFC Double Down are emerging from waters gargling with purple frigorific Gatorade flavors. Remember, how people were wary of the turquoise Gatorade before it became racially accepted as part of the mainstream line of Gatorades? It was previously part of Gatorade FROST. I was on cloud 9, huffing Vicks vapo-rub in my bedroom with the air conditioner blasting dust mites into my face against my mom and the surgeon-general’s warnings slurping down some fuckin GATORADE FROST. Now I’m a man. And man has needs. And I need my ferocious thirst quenched in a manly manner with Artic themed shit whored out all over the bottle. Mountain Dew White Out. I shall buy it again and again. Starting tomorrow.
And if you still remain unconvinced, that is a picture of me unable to pull the bottle off my fucking mouth IN journalism class where we are NOT allowed to have food, as so decreed by a sign on the door in fear of spillage on precious equipment that never works up to modern technological standards.

I put balls in my mouth. greenlaterngloballs

Look at this dangerous acumen.

True...if you google these things, this might be among the first images that come up because that's exactly what I did. When I first planned this blog entry (from the moment I was texted a picture of these things because it was relevant to my interests) I had planned on taking a picture of my haul and smashing these things apart and getting frosting all over myself, but I tend to blog while I'm in class and I simply don't have the means to get home right now and get hot and heavy with the glo balls photoshoot. But I do have the gusto to write about them...and I probably have the recipt somewhere to prove I bought them if you feel like tracking me down and forcing me at gunpoint to tell you how much they cost.

Anyways, onto the obvious. Coconut. Green. Chocolate. Marshmallow. Superhero...food item. I'm sold. "I don't know if it's art but I like it" says Jack Nicholson as the Joker and in a similar mindset "I don't know if it's edible but I like it" In fact I've liked it enough, er...tolerated it, enough to fufill my obligation to the point of eating 5 out of 6 glo balls so far since I purchased this green Pandora's Box. Does it matter that it's Green Lantern? Kind of soon to be promoting that movie a good like...9 months or so in advance isn't it? I think the character is irrelevant. They could have tried to sell this shit with the visage of The Toxic Avenger (Troma films anyone?) and I would have been salivating with the urge to tell the world of this filth's existence.

It's not good, really it's not...but it's green, so that's good. I guess that's my justification and the real main selling point of this item is the noxious green coloring. This is my favorite color in general, so anytime it's applied to food (unless it's organic or not created in a factory) I have an obligation to eat it. There's something different about an artificial green coloring added to food, especially chocolate or coconut. With orange you think halloween, or red or blue means 4th of July. What the fuck does green stand for? Revolution? Arbor Day? All Saints Day?

You can eat them really quickly too, I could probably go two in one sitting but they leave me with a bit of acid in my throat after eating them (usually cause I use them as chasers for frozen pizza and beer so far). But you'll never be like "THIS IS GREAT" and in a state of pure sexual satisfcation and jubilation as you're shoving them in your fucking face. You'll just feel "meh". You'll feel like you're serving time. Doing your duty to the box of green latern's balls to finish them all. There's much better Halloween/hero food out there though...and it will be tackled in later blogs.

Maybe I should change the name of this blog to "Shit I eat that will eventually kill me" or something. I've really gone down the tubes of pure cholesterol in the past few months with reviews of offensive foods. It's a dirty job, but someones got to do it. My facebook wall feed has a serious lack of green food reviews.

I'm seriously getting down to the Halloween shit. Next blog will be on Halloween food. I promise. Oreos or razor bladed candy or something.

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.

The Double Down.

This is the most important blog I've ever written. Ever. I can't even think of a subject that has this caliber of global importance and cultural significance that could possibly arise in the future either. It's sad to think that my blog has peaked less than a year in, but hey you never know what's going to happen.

This year, the cosmos have spread their mammoth cheeks and something fell from the sky that was worthy of sonnets. It was worthy of more than that. "Cellos. Cellos in a dark room" set to a chorus of screeching angels. Imagine if you will, previously undiscovered forms of maritime quadruped; archaic varmint, hoisting themselves from the cavities of the earth. They are blinded for the first time by their alluvial surroundings as opposed to the dank sepulchers they've had no choice but to call home for centuries past. Scientists have only so much as fantasized about these sequestered beings who now cluster at the shore lines, their branlike grey skin festering in the sunlight. Finally, a crowd of walking innocuous comestible humanity has gathered before the lusus naturae and awaits their next move. What this?! Suddenly, the superannuated mandibles of the aquatic beasts begin to open. When the dust and brine settles around their feet, the most beautiful sound to ever be emitted from an orifice emerges. It is a song so exquisite and stupefying that heads of the nearby onlookers explode like mortar shells blasting provenances of human hemoglobin across the sands. A jaunty cheer erupts from the entire force of nature on planet earth. The world will never be the same. The song of the oceanic creatures was so sweet, so convincing so succinct, that it was beyond definition. This song is how I'm attempting to explain the miraculous acumen known only as the KFC DOUBLE DOWN.

A while back, more time actually than I care to research, KFC (which doesn't stand for anything anymore as I've learned from watching Between Two Ferns on Funny or die) announced a new menu item only known suspiciously as THE DOUBLE DOWN. Now, when we explore the latin root of the words "double down" we get the phrase geminus demitto meaning "twin payments to the church". In modern times, this pious sacrifice has become the action of a player of blackjack doubling his bet with his original hand from the dealer, including an additional card. It also is the name of a Saloon in Vegas which is famous for "ass juice".

But despite the acronym going the way of the homo erectus (a species of African hominids from 1.3 million years ago), I think KFC does stand for something. It stands for freedom and mirth and the true needs and whims of the human race. Thus the double down was created. Beautiful in its alarming simplicity and frightening to the old world pagan naysayers; no great landmark was ever created without being met by scrutiny and disbelievers. I still think the Double Down has done more in its brief period of circulation since its inception for American culture than Mount Rushmore ever did. Keep in mind, I'm the same guy whose reaction to Taco Bell's motion to buy the Liberty Bell turning out to be a farce could best be described as "blue balls".

And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't something inherently generative and wanton about the Double Down. Without further digression of discussing what it actually is consists of, the Double Down is two husky pieces of chicken with an oppressed smattering of bacon at the heart and some American cheese as well as an avaricious quantity of some kind of honey mustard ish sauce. A quick trip to KFC's website tells what it REALLY is:

"The 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!"

I was really counting on that cheese to be American. The fact that I wasn't able to figure that out on my own shows what kind of amateur cheese savant I really am. Or perhaps I was just distracted. I'd also like to point out their description is not quite accurate. It's not that there's no room for a bun, it's that it's unnecessary because this is how we should have figured out how to make our sandwiches about 20 years ago. This shows a drastic progression of intelligence for sentient humanity and I can safely say I'm pretty proud it's finally happened. At any rate, as soon as I heard about this culinary novelty I also read tons of articles slamming it for the usual lack of nutritional value. I wonder if they'd heard of KFC before? Clearly they fail to understand the point of eating at such an establishment. I think Fast Food is more about the celebration of the food and togetherness of it than it is about getting daily nutritional benefit. Where else will you see homelessmen mingling with misanthropes such as myself and both singing the praises of fried chicken layered with bacon simultaneously? Should I even be singing the praises before consuming it? Well I knew I had to try it...but I was gearing up to it.

I fantasized for a bit over a month until today about my personal encounter with the Double Down. What kind of KFC would I go to where it would finally enter into my stomach? Would it be an urban chain location? What would the double down be packaged in? How much would it cost? As fate would have it, when deciding what to have for lunch today something suddenly clicked and I knew the time was right and there was no sense in putting it off further. I ended up at one of those KFC/Taco Bell hybrids. Not the choicest of locations, but it was appropriately underwhelming for the heroic feats I was about to execute in the ingestion of their featured menu item. For a second I feared that the senior citizens of the city still clinging to delusions of societal importance had deemed the double down inappropriate and had banned it; but sure enough as soon as I walked in a giant glorious poster greeted me like it seemed to understand my doubts and reassured me I was in the right place.

To the tune of 6.99, I ended up getting the Double Down Value meal which also included DP and some of their disgusting over-spiced mutant home fries or whatever they're called. Tater-wedges. Seasoned batter. Something like that. After what seemed like an eternity waiting for my order to be processed, IT was finally in my possession.It's hard to impart with this picture I took quite how small it was in person. I must say I was mildly disappointed upon first coming eyeballs to fried chicken with it. First of all, this tin foil wrapping did not explicitly state "double down"...and where was that french fry sleeve I'd been expected to hold it in that was on the posters? I was reserving my judgment until I'd eaten it in its entirety though.
So here's my own double down unwrapped. You'll notice the batter on the top layer is a bit sparse, which also disappointed me at first, but the promise of that bacon teaser attempting to escape was drawing my face to the beast. Upon first seeing this, I thought I might have to buy a second one in one sitting, due to the small size of it. But as soon as it reached my eager maw, I realized I had greatly underestimated the double down.

It was a lot to bite off at first, and contrary to my fears, the bacon was actually fairly greasy and substantial. Last week I had some dreadful preservative bacon upon an airplane on the in flight meal that I didn't want to eat again. The sauce is almost non existent, which is fine at first because the chicken is so dry and succulent. You'll notice from the pictures, I was tempted to use ketchup to assist the chicken on its journey down my throat, but I wanted as pure and natural an experience with this product as humanely possible. I'm not sure mortals can get eat it to the full potential of the sandwich but I really put forth my game face.

I gotta be honest with you. I was getting a bit tired about two thirds of the way in. It was pretty dry and I could have used a refresher like a smidgen of bread or more sauce. At this point I'd already demolished the bacon and I was just powering through one chicken filled bite after the next. The cheese kept me motivated. It was hanging off the sides of the chicken sweating grease and singing sweet songs of southern redemption. For a second I was transported to a twilight period of that was some kind of cross between the civil war and Bladerunner as I was shoving the double down into my face when the realization that I was actually finally consuming it finally hit me. By the time I'd become cognitive of this fact, it was gone.
This is what a defeated double down looks like after being laid waste to by my vicious mandibles. I promise I didn't use the ketchup on the sandwich. I actually attempted to eat the fritter-fries after the filling sandwich, with turned out to be a pretty poor decision and left me with a case of the itis. They can't be stomached without some kind of sauce though, and as you can see, I didn't have time to trifle with copious amounts of ketchup being siphoned from individual meager packets.

Wanna know how I felt leaving the restaurant? It's better just to show you...

Well maybe not that last one so much. But you get the idea. I felt like I'd just achieved something monumental. I felt like I'd just overcome some kind of great oppression. I'd dethroned a dictator. It's been a few hours since my initial consumption and so far the Double Down hasn't had any shocking digestive repercussions or caused my body to create audible panic. While it's not perfect, we don't live in a perfect world, but it does give me hope at at least we're working towards one. I see more potential here than I do presently with health care reform so stick that in your light bulb or your 2 liter bottle and smoke it.

Do I recommend the double down? Yes. Yes I do very much so. If not so much for the fairly average chicken taste as for the combination with cheese and bacon and cultural impact. Next time I have it (and oh there will be a next time) I'm going to bath it in mayonnaise after having tried it in its most virginal form upon initial consumption. 4 out of 4 stars for fast food. Up next on my hit list is some shrek mcflurry I've heard about. Not too jazzed about that one, but it might be good. Mcdonalds has a good track record with green ice cream related products. I can't think of much else that could cause a stir like the double down short of the random re-emergence of the Mcrib, but even that feels bland in comparison.

Now go forth tender cutlets, and make sure you eat all the crumbs and the bacon.

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)

The world is improving and the herald of the new decade's apparent quality is the ANGUS BURGER

This entry is not true to form, and it has nothing to do with nostalgia. Rather here, I'm talking about something new and exciting. However, we could spin it towards nostalgia in that it's significantly better than what I remember. Sometimes the latest thing is actually pretty cool, and that's why America tends to gravitate towards it.

Behold the greatness of the McDonalds Angus Burger:

And like most things from Hot Toys and other manufacturers of fine product, "pics don't do it justice". I never thought I'd used the words "Mcdonalds" and "Greatness" in the same sentence except for in whatever month St. Patrick's day is in (believe me there will be blog about it). Going back to the pic, look at how dried out those tomatoes look...and is that an aramark chicken patty under that slice a' cheese or a hunk a' meat? And what's this on the top? I don't want any of that "Ciabatta" shit. Don't be fooled by this less than flattering image I lazily found on google after about 5 seconds of searching and skipping the better picture due to it not loading...as Sam Jackson would say "this IS a tasty burger!"

Upon first opening the burger from its bombshell you'll notice several things eye catching immediatly.

1. Seeds. Not just like the generic seeds you see on top of Wonderbread buns. I mean different varieties of grain grown in chemical labs for the corporate intent of McDonalds. It's serious business. Like seeds you'd find on rye bread. Thankfully none of those sausage seeds. Everything is wrong with those bastards.

2. Multiple slices of cheese. I'm a man who appreciates cheese. I appreciate cheesy jokes. I appreciate cheesy burgers. A true American man likes American cheese, and McDonalds piles it on. I'd like to secretely believe that while McDonalds exists in most countries, they devote the greatest amount of cheese to the customers in states. Just a little thank you to their roots. But cheese doesnt grow in the ground. Cheesy?

3. MAYONAISE! Some people connonate mayo with feeling sick or it's obvious visual association with a certain bodily excrement but I'll be damned if I don't love mayonaise. I pile it on in heaping quantities to every sandwhich I eat except an ice cream sandwhich, and even those sometimes too. Why? It tastes good. How ridiculous are you? The first thing I noticed opening the bun and sifting through the useless and yet extravagant garnish of vegetables was a heaping pile of mayonaise. Savor it.

4. Vegetables. Like I said these are essentially a garnish designed to be removed. Pickles don't belong on a burger. If you're like me you leave one slice of lettuce, a single "tomat" and a pile of onions. If you're even more like me than you think you are, you also have onion breath nearly 6 hours after consuming this burger.

So those are the immediate thoughts. You know what else? It takes more than a second to woof it down. Approximately two seconds. While it still slightly has a manufactured quality the more frequently I order it, upon first glance, the Angus burger feels like REAL burger at a real dining facility with a credible reputation. You feel like an important man when you strut up to the counter at mcdonalds "oh ho ho I'll take the angus burger please". They know you aren't fuckin around then. They nod to the people in the back and tell them to use the vice grips to handle this big meaty sombitch. Don't underestimate me handmaiden of snack wraps and supplier of milkshake...I come demanding one thing...ANGUS!

This is all for now. I'm not sure how this ties into nostalgia other than how I remember McDonalds used to give you paper thin burgers bathed in those weird little onion cubes and ketchup and this is clearly the better menu item. Real men eat angus burgers.

And now I fully expect Mcdonalds ads to appear on my blog. They've earned their spot unlike those "congragulations you won an ipod" assholes.