OctoberBlues posted:

I think it is a glass of chocolate milk.

RareAcumen posted:

I can't believe how long we've gone without a bingo.

Judge Tesla posted:

Goons really don't like Sweetcorn is what I'm gathering from a few of the recent pictures.

(I like it a lot, for the record, because I'm not that fussy an eater)

Judge Tesla posted:

Goons really don't like Sweetcorn is what I'm gathering from a few of the recent pictures.

(I like it a lot, for the record, because I'm not that fussy an eater)

KakerMix posted:

Corn owns, loose or cobb'd. People just LOVE to feel better about themselves and will grab on anything to lord with. Society has declared that sexism, classicism and racism is bad but people try to still run down that line of thinking and start critiquing steak cooking techniques, chili and it's bean content and letters on beer bottles. It all becomes poo poo in (out) the end.

Planet Piss posted:

I sure hope this is aspic

Planet Piss posted:

I sure hope this is a spic

Planet Piss posted:

I sure hope this is aspic

cash crab posted:

I think the (blue?) cheese on it bugs me. Cheese on steak? ??¿????¿

cash crab posted:

I think the (blue?) cheese on it bugs me. Cheese on steak? ??¿????¿

PCOS Bill posted:

No redness, gross

ACES CURE PLANES posted:

Hey, you're actually right on this one. If there's no redness, it's gross.

cash crab posted:

Posted with caption: If my family taught me anything, it’s how to grill a steak. Medium rare, no steak sauce needed. #wifematerial

gentle pete posted:

gentle pete posted:

Ultimate Mango posted:

If only it had loose corn

gentle pete posted:

Actually...

BINGO!!! What do I win?

gentle pete posted:

Actually...

BINGO!!! What do I win?

cash crab posted:

Anti-Food Porn Field Trip: Dare To Dream (KFC's Double Down)



How do I begin? Yesterday, I had planned on consuming one (1) Double Down for your viewing pleasure, but didn't get up until 4:30 PM and was too hungover to even contemplate food, let alone something rumoured to be so disgusting. This is probably the best idea I have ever had.

2:45 PM



I arrive at what is arguably the saddest KFC in existence. It is, at best, dodgy. It has no chairs, but an expansive parking lot comprised mostly of handicapped parking (while I am eating, on customer elects to park across three of said parking spots).

I am greeted by a young man named Ricky. Ricky has a small, silky pubestache and a body shape that reminds me of a lizard. I make my order, and he betrays no reaction, so presumably this is not as unpopular as my previous selection, the Lobster Horror. I pay ($10.15 CDN, even though I decline fries). "Six minutes," he says, and holds up an "A-Okay" sign with his hands. I nod.

Fourteen minutes later, my sandwich is ready. Ricky is the only employee, so after taking orders, he opens a door around the side of the counter and walks into the back to individually prepare every meal. When he is done, he places it in the window and walks back to the door, around the counter and takes the food and bags it. Mine is ready, and I get a Pepsi as well, and Ricky walks back to the kitchen to prepare another Double Down for a different customer. This is their seating arrangement:



And so I decide to eat it in the alleyway behind the KFC, even though it is raining. I am aware of how apt this is. I settle onto a small step and begin my meal.

3:00 PM



I assume the fact that it is "grain-fed" and "hand-made" is meant to soothe me. It does not. The hand reminds me of the sigil for the Dark Brotherhood and I interpret this as a warning.



For reference, I have selected the "Scorcher" variety of sandwich, as I assume it is the hottest. The orange tracks inside the chicken are presumably the "SCORCHING HOT" sauce I was promised. Experimentally, I taste a bit with my finger. It is mildly sweet, but not much else.

Immediately, I regret ever promising to eat one of these things. It is very hot in temperature only, but the spice I was promised was perhaps forgotten about. It tastes only of chicken, which makes me wonder why they bothered putting bacon and cheese inside of it.



Part of the way through eating, I notice the bottom of the sandwich has begun to leak. I imagine this is similar to what is going to happen to me in a few hours.

3:20 PM

The pace of my eating has slowed to a crawl. My eyelids feel heavy, and my body has lost all interest in consuming more food. There is a wetness on my hand, but it is not cold like rain. I notice the sandwich has begun to change.



The darker part of the breading is actually a bright orange fluid that has been dripping for some time, snaking down my palms and onto my pants. It is immediately clear to me why Ricky provided me with approximately eight napkins. By this point, my phone is so slick with oil that I drop it.

3:43 PM



This is all that remains. I have been chewing the same bite of chicken for five minutes straight, but my body is unwilling to swallow. I consider wrapping up this final piece of breaded sad into the foil and discarding it, but figured that would be dishonest and I pop it into my mouth and swallow without chewing. I am victorious.

Walking home, there is strange throbbing pain near my ovaries. My theory is that my body has decided that because of this incident, I should be barred from breeding. This is probably for the best.

cash crab posted:

Anti-Food Porn Field Trip: Dare To Dream (KFC's Double Down)

cash crab posted:

Anti-Food Porn Field Trip: Dare To Dream (KFC's Double Down)



How do I begin? Yesterday, I had planned on consuming one (1) Double Down for your viewing pleasure, but didn't get up until 4:30 PM and was too hungover to even contemplate food, let alone something rumoured to be so disgusting. This is probably the best idea I have ever had.

2:45 PM



I arrive at what is arguably the saddest KFC in existence. It is, at best, dodgy. It has no chairs, but an expansive parking lot comprised mostly of handicapped parking (while I am eating, on customer elects to park across three of said parking spots).

I am greeted by a young man named Ricky. Ricky has a small, silky pubestache and a body shape that reminds me of a lizard. I make my order, and he betrays no reaction, so presumably this is not as unpopular as my previous selection, the Lobster Horror. I pay ($10.15 CDN, even though I decline fries). "Six minutes," he says, and holds up an "A-Okay" sign with his hands. I nod.

Fourteen minutes later, my sandwich is ready. Ricky is the only employee, so after taking orders, he opens a door around the side of the counter and walks into the back to individually prepare every meal. When he is done, he places it in the window and walks back to the door, around the counter and takes the food and bags it. Mine is ready, and I get a Pepsi as well, and Ricky walks back to the kitchen to prepare another Double Down for a different customer. This is their seating arrangement:



And so I decide to eat it in the alleyway behind the KFC, even though it is raining. I am aware of how apt this is. I settle onto a small step and begin my meal.

3:00 PM



I assume the fact that it is "grain-fed" and "hand-made" is meant to soothe me. It does not. The hand reminds me of the sigil for the Dark Brotherhood and I interpret this as a warning.



For reference, I have selected the "Scorcher" variety of sandwich, as I assume it is the hottest. The orange tracks inside the chicken are presumably the "SCORCHING HOT" sauce I was promised. Experimentally, I taste a bit with my finger. It is mildly sweet, but not much else.

Immediately, I regret ever promising to eat one of these things. It is very hot in temperature only, but the spice I was promised was perhaps forgotten about. It tastes only of chicken, which makes me wonder why they bothered putting bacon and cheese inside of it.



Part of the way through eating, I notice the bottom of the sandwich has begun to leak. I imagine this is similar to what is going to happen to me in a few hours.

3:20 PM

The pace of my eating has slowed to a crawl. My eyelids feel heavy, and my body has lost all interest in consuming more food. There is a wetness on my hand, but it is not cold like rain. I notice the sandwich has begun to change.



The darker part of the breading is actually a bright orange fluid that has been dripping for some time, snaking down my palms and onto my pants. It is immediately clear to me why Ricky provided me with approximately eight napkins. By this point, my phone is so slick with oil that I drop it.

3:43 PM



This is all that remains. I have been chewing the same bite of chicken for five minutes straight, but my body is unwilling to swallow. I consider wrapping up this final piece of breaded sad into the foil and discarding it, but figured that would be dishonest and I pop it into my mouth and swallow without chewing. I am victorious.

Walking home, there is strange throbbing pain near my ovaries. My theory is that my body has decided that because of this incident, I should be barred from breeding. This is probably for the best.

Samizdata posted:

As always, Cash Crab delivers!

(Seriously? What the hell was the point of that thing? I thought Double Downs were supposed to be a bread-free sandwich, not just a bunch of crap piled together at apparent random.)

ErIog posted:

It's a reduced carb menu option. It is a dumb idea from a "how do I loving eat this" standpoint, but nutritionally it's really not as awful as people make it out to be.

The Double Down is a honeypot for illogical thinking. If those ingredients were on a bun not too many people would have much of a problem with it. No bun means the sandwich leaks, though, and people find that somewhat distasteful. A Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese is worse by nearly every single measurable nutrition metric and KFC's other sandwich with two pieces of chicken, the Twister, is not really that much better. For some reason, though, people see the Double Down and lose all ability to think rationally about it.