For who knows what reason, sometimes I just like to treat my body like a compost heap. It’s the “Let’s keep throwing trash and crap in there and hope we can use whatever’s leftover” method. This can be blamed mostly on my inability to gain weight, or to get sick, or to generally feel and look like an amoeba. At this point, I kind of feel untouchable, like the Al Capone of junk food aficionados. With the exception of the Summer of 69¢ 44oz. Fountain Drinks, the only time I’ve gained weight at any degree, I’ve never had to watch what I consume. Eventually this will catch up with me, no doubt. Thirty is only a year away, and we all know that’s when easy living starts to go the way of the dodo.
So, basically, this is my last hurrah in the realm of acting like a five-year old, of eating Doritos© for breakfast, as I did this morning. To begin the dead man walking stage of my youth, I’ve decided that every Friday, I’m going to eat the most ridiculous lunch I can find. And thanks to the never ending surge of commercials supporting their new product/artery clogger, I felt it necessary to begin at the restaurant closest to my Old Kentucky Heart: KFC.
KFC’S GUITAR HERO FULLY LOADED BOX MEAL
- 1 Snacker
- 1 Leg or Thigh
- 2 Sides of your choice (mac & cheese, potato wedges)
- 2 Chicken Strips
- 1 Biscuit
- 1 32oz Beverage
I’m not completely sure what a smörgåsbord of chicken has to do with Guitar Hero, but it don’t make a f**k when you’re hungry. There was supposed to be a collector’s cup featuring a cartoon playing thrash metal to go with my bucket of Dr. Pepper, but it seems this item is so hot that my local establishment was fresh out. I didn’t complain. Who can blame the public, really? This box is fully loaded and ready to rock!
It seems like an odd assortment of food to just throw in a box and call a “meal.” At heart, it’s just a bunch of dollar menu items that most sane people would eat individually and then consider themselves full. I decided to just dive in and see what happens, hoping I could finish the whole thing without having to remove a rib. I started with the wedges, an appetizer of something that could technically be called a vegetable. Technically. Let’s get the stomach thinking it’s not in for something epic: “Oh, more potatoes. I’m used to this. Nothing to see here. La dee da dee da.”
Next, I moved to the Snacker, which is nothing more than a chicken strip and bread, mostly bread. Again, nothing major to be worried about. Grain is an important part of a healthy diet, everyone knows this. There’s a pyramid that tells us so. And I trust shapes, especially ones that point upwards to God. Therefore, following this logic, the Snacker is a harbinger of God. Enjoy its message and do not be ashamed.
It was indeed a lot of bread, so I needed to take a breather before moving on to the next course. I did a little lamaze, a few sit-ups in my cubicle, said a short positive affirmation, and I was ready to let the sadness continue. I picked up a chicken strip, gave a sign of the cross, and chowed down. The first one went down smooth, like a shot of courvoisier. It wasn’t until the second strip ended with an odd shot of liquid that I decided this may not have been the best idea. But in the words of Rocky Balboa: it’s not how hard you hit, it’s how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward.
To cleanse the taste of liquefied meat out of my mouth, I picked up the biscuit and used it as a sponge. This thing could have tasted like the tears of the archangel Gabriel, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Now was the time to keep on chugging, keep on keepin’ on, yo. If it wasn’t for the sweet nectar of the good Doctor’s Pepper, I’m not sure how much longer my will power would have lasted. I can’t tell you how many times this beverage has cured what ails me. It’s 23 flavors combine to form the greatest creation since the Constructicons formed Devastor.
I was running low on beverage at this point, and on my ability to suppress my gag reflex, so instead of more chicken, I opted for the mac & cheese. Sounds like a good idea, right? Right? I mean, everyone likes mac & cheese. Three-year olds and my grandmother like mac & cheese. But would they appreciate its positive contributions with a belly full of synthesized food product? It didn’t help that the “cheese” had congealed to form something that looked like a glue stick. But as a former three-year old that ate paste with a spoon, this did not stop me from finishing my mission.
This left only the thigh, which was not by mistake. I am not a fan of dark meat. I was hoping I’d be way past full before I had to stare eye to thigh, but this was not the case. Sadly, I did have room left to spare. Having said “extra crispy, please” earlier at the drive thru, I peeled off the first layer of skin, took one crunchy bite, and immediately threw the piece of chicken into the trash. I was done, son. There was still a half day of work to complete, and now was not the time to die of grease poisoning.
It’s a full 24 hours later, and I still feel like I have a layer of grease on my face and fingers. But strangely enough, there were no repercussions in regards to my health. No stomach issues, no general feelings of unease. Of course, I did not eat again the entire day. That was my one and only meal. What does this tell me? That perhaps I still have some youthful living to do. I can continue to mistreat my body for at least another year or so, at least until a health crisis of some kind bares its ugly head. I’m no Adonis, by any stretch of the imagination, so I don’t feel like this new mission will be ruining anything particularly appealing in regards to my appearance. Hell, I could stand to gain a few pounds. This should be fun. Well, unless I die of a heart attack. That ruins anyone’s good time.