KFC Double-Dohmygoditsdisgusting

On this, the twelfth of November in the year 2010, I, Gregory David Gordon Mussell declare to have made the single greatest mistake of my adult life.

I tried the KFC Double-Down.

Now I am not one to shy away from food due to nutritional content, or utter utter lack thereof. I will deep-fry anything. I adore potato chips, fast food, ice cream, bacon, doughnuts, chocolate bars and seasoning salt. I let my stomach rule my brain - but today my stomach went too far.

Before even exiting my car a wave of dread more gut-wrenching and terrifying than anything I’d ever previously felt swept through my body like the ebola virus. It had been nearly a decade since I set food in a KFC. The food at KFC is to fast food what fast food is to real food: a cheap half-assed mockery. I hate it. But still, the commotion the bun-less heart-attack-waiting-to-happen called to a place so deep with me, so hidden in the bowels of my psyche, that I did not understand why, but I knew this pining would never desist, and I needed to have that sandwich. The pull was so strong that I forget about the dread which was borrowing underneath my flesh and eating away at me, let alone the high sodium content I would soon expose myself to.

Upon entering the KFC the inexplicable dread rose up once more. The unkempt garbages, the scarce and overturned furniture, the clinically depressed staff (I can only assume) did not welcome me with warmth and comfort; I feared, rather, that I was about to be stabbed. Walking up to the counter, I was hoping that I would feel like a welcome guest to the nearly empty restaurant. I was expecting to be greeted not with excitement, not with cheer, not even with great service. Acceptability was all I wanted, a kind of feeling slightly better than just being a nuisance. But, the eyes of the poor man behind the counter told me with no uncertain fact that I was a giant asshole and was about to absolutely ruin his day. I doubt I did, but the sandwich ruined mine.

It took 4 long minutes from the time I ordered to get my sandwich. Four long minutes in a warm, dirty hole. I felt like I was nesting in an obese man’s rectum. It was disgusting, and with each breath I tok I could feel the residual grease which lingered in the air enter my lungs, slowly suffocating me. Surely this place would kill me.

A lot of thoughts about the sandwich floated through my mind. I was simultaneously excited and mortified. What if it was horrible? What if it made me wretch? The cost was an utterly unwarranted 7 dollars: I would have to finish the whole sandwich, no matter how many times my stomach tried to forcefully eject it.

Finally I was handed my food. Fearing death’s cold grip was about to wrap round my neck, I retreated to my car and stared at what I had bought. All I hope I had for its palatability vanished instantly. “My God,” I thought, “I just spent 7 dollars on donkey shit”.

And so I had.

It smelt worse than it looked, it looked worse than the idea sounded, and to be frank, it’s a fucking stupid idea.

And so I ate it. Here are my thoughts.

I cannot fucking believe I spent that much money on such a tiny amount of such terrible food!

I doubt my bowels will pass this by the new year. Pray for me.

It was dry, tough, burnt, soaked in a mysterious orange fluid I can only assume normally functions as an engine coolant

I want my seven dollars back.

Conclusion:

I paid seven dollars to be served the single most disgusting, insulting and baffling interpretation of food I have ever experienced in the single most unwelcoming locale I could ever imagine - and I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals.

Learn from my mistake. Never go to a KFC again, let alone buy any of their food - I know I never will.

Both KFC and its sandwich are abominations. They must be stopped.