Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you eat KFC’s new Double Down chicken sandwich, you are a sexually violative pervert, and I hate you. It’s the ass-to-ass of fast-food dining fare. And, just to be clear—nobody has ever done ass-to-ass just because it seemed like a fun thing to do. (Not even your mom.)
You should take my word on this, too, since, having seen Darren Aronofsky’s film Requiem for a Dream (2000) at least a dozen times, I’m something of an expert on the categories of experience that lead one to say, “yeah, you know what, maybe this won’t be that bad.” Here’s how it goes: first, you’re all, yo heroin tastes pretty good let’s do this every day. Also get me a damn soda while you’re up because I’m kind of thirsty. No big deal, everything was casual like that back then. Next thing you know, POW!, you’re hooked on heroin, and, as a funny joke, Life decides to serve you up a steaming Pu Pu platter with nothing on it but a city-wide heroin drought and a drippy nose. FUCK.
It goes without saying that, under such conditions of scarcity, those few suppliers who still possess the sublime ambrosia known as heroin suddenly find themselves in a position to cater only to a very select clientele—specifically, those for whom no price is too extravagant to get their fix. One such addict might be a woman whose sense of personal integrity has been warped so badly by the depthless torture of unsatisfied addiction that, when approached by a man with a supply, she’s willing to consider performing in a sex show for a group of malevolent old dudes who can only get a hard-on from watching depraved acts of sexualized human misery, so long as the supplier’s willing to pay well (he is). I really can’t think of any other situation where one would hear “ASS TO ASS” barked at them (especially by this guy)
and they’d actually do it. That’s what I’m talking about with KFC.
Wait, I’m not done. Because, remember those old dudes I was just talking about? Yeah, well they’re not even the worst ones—they have to go through the supplier, too. The most evil player in this whole equation of suffering and exploitation, the criminal mastermind who brings everyone together, and also brings like 3 or 4 grease-drenched paper bags just filled all the way up with Double Downs (for ass-to-ass snack breaks), is the one, the only, Big Tim—that’s you, if you, you know, follow the strict logic of this analogy…you fucking…you fucking dick pickle. Why don’t you go ahead and put a big ol’ dick pickle on your artery-clogging fast food sex crime? Better yet, why don’t you squeeze one through that unsettling gap tooth of yours? I don’t need that shit in my life, seriously. Seriously.
Get it out of here!
Dude I’m creeping myself out, and you probably don’t even know what the chuck I’m talking about yet. Okay, for the uninitiated:
I can only assume that KFC knowingly cast a Big Tim lookalike to utter the most disturbing and sexually suggestive lines in the whole commercial. Here’s an experiment: Try maintaining unbroken eye contact with him as he speaks his lines.
Somehow it will make you bleed or cry or leak something slippery or viscous out of your body. Save this discharge in a Petri dish for me, because, using only the tools of science and the laws of deduction, I can prove that this sauce is the very same secret ingredient that KFC smears all over its breadless sexual trauma. But I don’t need no highfalutin lab test to prove what is already clear and distinct to the naked soul: encountering this man’s deep-voiced innuendo is both to feel that some soul-damning sexual fantasy has been inappropriately disclosed, and to know with certainty that you’ve witnessed the most honest assessment of KFC desire that you’ll ever see. Two pieces of chicken. Wink wink. I say it like this in my knowing Big Tim voice with my Big Tim eyebrows raised as if to say “come hither” in the way my man Big Tim taught me how to let you in on the secret—I’m not actually talking about chicken. I’m talking about ass to ass.
That’s the only thing the Colonel has ever been talking about.
Posts
