Taking advantage of the zombie in my bedroom

(That’s gonna get me some cool Google hits.  I am of course referring to my cable modem.)

All y’all oughta read this:

All I can really say is fuck yeah.


(H/t Tam, of course: well worth reading for the “look how much we care about those ignorant poor assholes” angle.)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahahahahahaheheheheheh… lol n00b.

Largely because it makes Huffington Post contributors cry, I’ve been working on my own open source version of the KFC meatwich.  Turns out that I was wrong about mozza and basil: there’s just not enough flavour there.  Adding some sort of a proper barbecue rub and using aged cheddar works much better; if you’re lazy like I am, swap the chicken for sandwich steaks.

But hang on a sec, there’s some awesome stupid here:

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

That’s chicken, pig (bacon), and cow (cheese) if you’re keeping score from home.  Oh Mr. Morford, your tears taste so sweet!  “Milking dairy cows is industrial torture!”  Right; those dairy cows are so happy when you refuse to milk them.  Let’s lock you in a barn with a dozen dairy cows what haven’t been milked in a week so they can thank you for the experience.

But hang on a moment: how precisely are those Sauron-forged meatwiches gonna kill me?  Because, budget permitting, I’mna eat two meatwiches a day for the next until I get bored:

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. Signed, You.”

So, it’s gonna… no, wait, that’s just Morford being an arrogant asshole.  I’m a complete and total idiot — so says “me”, as interpreted by Mark Morford.  He’s kind of right — with twelve years of retrospect, I know I could’ve scored with this one girl at my high-school prom if I’d only had the nuts to ask her to dance.  But what does that have to do with meatwiches?  Oh, right: fuck-all, which by sheer coincidence is roughly what Morford knows about endocrinology.

Smile, it gets more amusing:

Let us now add a shred of wary perspective.

Let us now add a shred of “omigod I wish I could write like J.R.R. Tolkein or even like Robert Jordan omigod I would dieeee!“:

For well do I know this horrible crapbucket of chyme 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, and you want to die fat and stupid and smelling like that rotting thing you found in your rain gutter.

Well, it worked for half a paragraph.  Okay, so as an unabashed fan of actual science applied to nutrition I’mna end up dead, fat, and stupid (not to mention smelling like rotting, uh, vegetable matter).  Where’s the part where Morford explains the science behind this metamorphosis?

This vile meatwich is crammed like a grenade with sodium, sugar, fat and chemicals.

Fat?  Sodium?  Chemicals?

I’m missing the “sugar” in that ingredients list, unless it’s the secret meatwich sauce (which, being a poor Canuckistani plebe, I am forbidden from slurping down just yet).

Okay, just so we’re all clear on the concept: this meatwich is about one quarter as harmful as the sort of litre-sized Coke you can buy at your local fucking everywhere franchise.  Note that Morford’s not complaining about teh ebil Coek, with all their high-fructose corn syrup sweeteners and regulatory capture of farm subsidies and the like.  Note also that Morford doesn’t seem too put out with folks who cook their own meatwiches (like your humble blogger — oops, I must’ve mistaken his earlier concern for what I ate rather than where I bought it):

Had KFC actually tested it on people who eat real food every 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.

I guess brands really are magical things: if I ate the same damn meatwich from KFC I’d no doubt have shat out my colon by now.  Because, um, OMG teh corporate and stuff.

But I’m just an arrogant blogger, while Morford has layers of editorial oversight with the San Francisco Chronicle that vets shit like this:

You convince the less educated and the gullible that they are wrong, that this crap is actually a good value for your family, nutritious and safe to feed to children, even as you manufacture all the flavors, 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.

Oh wait; I think I got the “arrogant” part confused.

There’s really nothing to Morford’s puddle of journalistic vomitus, no biochemical or metabolic explanation of how a meal of fat, protein, and trace amounts of carbs are supposed to utterly murderize your digestive processes or anything besides “they make money, we hate them” to justify his talk of “[manufactured] flavours, smells, and meat-like textures [from a] giant lab”.  All he has to go on is a giant tumorous growth of arrogant class-based elitism combined with a shallow sense of egalitarian guilt: he hates the “less educated, gullible, poorer classes”, the ign’ant bastids who cling bitterly to their guns and churches, and justifies this rather non-progressive thought to himself by making believe that he really just hates the ebil corpuh-ayshuns that prey on the poor animalistic beasts.  Seriously: if you can manage it, read the article: Morford refers to “the poorer classes” who buy KFC and the chickens, hogs, and cattle that become KFC with the same dismissive language.

And if my steak-and-bacon meatwiches don’t make Arianna Huffington cry, there’s always these:

Okay, I’m now too hungry to type.  I’ll be back tomorrow, if my undead modem doesn’t murder me in my sleep like some sort of GlaDOS impersonator.

4 Responses to “Taking advantage of the zombie in my bedroom”

  1. 1 aczarnowski
    April 15, 2010 at 13:48

    I have added fuck-all and murderize to my list of words which I must use more often. Thank you.

    I wonder if we’re missing an opportunity here. If we can get each fast food chain to release something like this every month or so in a rolling schedule, maybe we can keep the half whits so occupied they won’t be able to spin down long enough to clamor for a law. The energy produced by this sandwich has been an amazing thing to see glowing over the horizon.

    • April 15, 2010 at 14:18

      I like the way you think. We’ll make sure they’re different — the next one could be a GMO salad — so that the food nannies have to keep changing direction. And if we could hook them up to a thermocouple (the food nannies, that is, not the food itself) we’d be just rolling in renewable energy! (Catalytic depolymerization of the food nannies themselves might be more efficient, though.)

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anarchocapitalist agitprop

Be advised

I say fuck a lot



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