KFC Shot at Anglochatters

Can't Yucky Fried Chicken, Bro!
Latest product can only be seen as a rapidly deployable weapon
to curtail population growth

From Big Mac to Double Whopper, from one-foot B.M.T. to KFC's new "Double Down" - not by coincidence did marketing geniuses invoke terms closely associated with the Pentagon's best guarded secrets within their arsenal. Forget anti-personal mines or other surface-to-face missiles: KFC has come up with 'Da Bomb' - an effective piece of armory to tackle the explosive growth among niggers, whiggers, white trash and ghetto fucks, with this chav-seeking device to bring Armageddon to the nation's inner-cities.

There are many horrible jobs in this life. Emergency room janitor. Sow inseminator. Earwax collector. Anglochat moderator. Sarah Palin's grammar checker. Democrat. New Jersey. Alabama. Alistar Darling's eyebrow trimmer.

But when I sit back, sip my Bloody Mary and scan the newswires for motley effluvia indicative of our culture's joyful hellbound deathspin, the realisation soon dawns that I can think of few gigs more nightmare-inducing, soul-deadeningly horrible than being an executive for garbage food (AKA fast food) megacorp.

That is to say, a VP for McDonald's, Taco Bell, Burger King or their ilk, someone who sits around all day (now there is an idea for Anglochatters to apply and get off welfare!) trying to discover new ways to manipulate, coerce, poison, and otherwise flagrantly kill millions of disadvantaged humans by convincing them to eat mass-produced, industrial feedlot, chemical-blasted garbage you should not feed to your dog unless you totally hate him.



What possessed you, Mr. KFC executive? Who are you who just gave your approval to a rather shocking new KFC food item, who said "Oh holy hell, yes! Look at these great test-marketing numbers! Fuck it, let's go against every shred of human decency, common sense, and even the First Lady's humble plea to get us to please quit making our tribe so stupidly obese and sick, and sell a truly disgusting creation."

Do you know what I'm talking about yet? Have you seen it? Apparently, for many months, people who run the snarky junk food blogs on the Interwebs heard rumours that KFC was testing this item, and thought it might be a joke, a viral gimmick. Or if not that, then something that certainly would never make it to market, given how it looks like some sort of frat-boy prank, like the drones at KFC's test kitchens got completely hammered one night and had a bet as to who could come up with the most repulsive menu item imaginable.

Behold, the KFC Double Down sandwich. It is, if you really want to know, two slabs of fried chicken intersliced with two pieces of bacon, two slabs of cheese, and the Colonel's "special sauce." It comes in the form of a sandwich, with the fried chicken where the bread used to be. It's sort of hilarious. It's sort of perfect. And then it'll probably make you vomit.

Did you notice? How in one pseudo-food item, you are consuming not one, not two, but the mutated, chemically injected flesh/byproducts of three different distended, liquefied, industrially tortured creatures? Feel the love, pitiable animal kingdom.

You got your chicken-like creature, your pig-like creature, your dairy cow-like creature, all wrapped in a $5 fistful of nausea, ready to strangle your heart and benumb your brain. God knows what's in the "special sauce." Maybe some sort of fish byproduct, just to round it all out? It's like a wild kingdom in your mouth! It's like a toxic zoo in your colon! It's like a suicide note from what's left of your brain! "If you eat this, you are a complete and total idiot, and we're through. Move to Anglochat for funeral arrangements! Signed, You."

Let us now add a shred of wary perspective. I know this horrible crapbucket of chyme,  dripping towards your intestines, joins a very long list of fast-food nightmares you should never put anywhere near your mouth, unless you deeply hate yourself and don't give a damn anymore, tolerated only from the Anglochat infested, and you want to die fat and stupid and smelling like that rotting thing you found in your rain gutter. Need names? LOL... they've all been listed here before.

Some argue that it's a bit disingenuous to blame the junk food purveyors for all the obesity, cancer, impotence, bad skin, hair loss, brittled nails and colonic pain in the land. After all, the un- and undereducated masses love to eat this garbage, right? KFC test-marketed this Double Down death bomb for months, from the ghettos of the South to the chavdoms of the North, to the council estates of derelict Britania; to (presumably) great effect.

Of course, it's sort of a foregone conclusion, a rigged game. This vile meatwich is crammed like a grenade with sodium, sugar, fat and chemicals. Ergo, the testers, presumably people with taste buds devastated by years of cramming similar compost into their guts, thought it was pure nirvana, much to the praise from feed-craving Angloers. And then their colons exploded, in many shapes, colours and shades of fonts.

Had KFC actually tested it on real people who eat real food every (offline) day, folk who haven't touched fast food in years, whose systems are strong and fully recovered and in whose bodies blood flows unobstructed, had KFC dared any genuinely healthy human to take a bite, you can bet they would have heard, and smelled, a slightly different reaction. Instead they opted for the obvious, the Anglochatters.

And if they don't really want it -- if, deep down, most humans sense this garbage is hugely unhealthy, that it's a form of slow poison and there are far better and swift options for killing out there such as gas chamber and electric chair -- well, you do what companies like KFC, Coca-Cola, Kraft, McDonald's and all the rest have done since the dawn of the free market.

You convince the less educated and the gullible Anglochatters that they are wrong, that this crap is actually a good value for your family (that's a single mother with 5 and more offspring), nutritious and safe to feed to coincidental children, even as you manufacture all the flavours, smells and meat-like textures in a giant lab and sell truckloads of the crap to the poorer classes, until they get fat and sick and die. Meanwhile, you employ cute cartoon characters and bright, funny mascots to lure in the next generation, to keep the cycle going.

I feel vindicated that my last emergency stop of desperation at a KFC was back in 1996, in Altoona, PA. And I do believe that their (literal) bombshell creation is aimed at "affirmative-actioned" black collegeers, moribund in their academic quest but active in bush, tree & field activities, to push them over the crucial 200-pound tonnage in order to qualify for the Big League.