Thursday, February 21, 2008

Midnight Rambler

Sometimes it's late and you are starving and you convince yourself it's OK to eat like a freshman flush with your parent's cash and no desire to live until tomorrow. Although it is a mercifully infrequent occurrence, you rarely have to twist Tamalehawk's scapulars to sell him on a Wendy's run. Decades of tinkering in the food lab have constructed what, to much of modern man, is considered the paradigm of fast food chicken sandwiches. Then, in a fit of unbridled hubris, they put bacon and cheese on it.

We know that dipping your fries in the Frosty is a mandatory taste explosion. A impulsive experiment confirmed that there was no correlatable effect when Frosty is applied to your chicken sandwich. No detrimental change, just no worthwhile enhancement. Also, it's a small thing, but Tamalehawk loves the cornmeal-dusted buns. He doesn't know why, but he wishes everything was dusted with cornmeal. They also have a sandwich called the Baconator, and you have to have an old-school pair of brass clangers to put that on today's market.


  1. I've had a Baconator. It's not really meant for bird (or human) consumption. The first couple of bites are delicious, then you realize that you are in way over your head. But the Baconator is not about to take "no" for an answer. It's like being a low-level criminal who really thinks he's outsmarted the bosses, only to learn he was set up for the double cross the whole time. That's what finishing a Baconator is like.

  2. I would describe finishing a Baconator as taking control of a careening 747 after both of the pilots have mysteriously died, safely landing that bitch on a 4 lane highway, only to fall to the pavement and die when the air filled tube slide does not deploy properly.

  3. You're both wrong. The Baconator is the physical manifestation of man's hubris before God's awesome majesty.