Layers of flavor, layers of fat - correlation or strange cosmic coincidence?

There is an epidemic in this country and it’s spreading at an alarming rate. It’s a disease, a cancerous tumor on our society. It’s irreparably damaged our nation, marred our own self-image. No, it’s not obesity (though it is lending itself to fat-asses). It’s the vile and inane dish known as the KFC Famous Bowl, and it’s ripping our country apart.

When these monstrosities were introduced, I scoffed at the commercials. “Pah!” I laughed, adjusting my monocle. “Surely these ridiculous bowls of flavor will not appease the masses!” At that point, Miss Pennyweather of East Drive had arrived for a bit of tea and tobacco chew, but that’s a completely different story.

Turns out these Famous Bowls are currently the hottest selling item on the KFC menu. Go figure.

Our country is overweight; the fattest nation in the world, actually. And I don’t mean like the charming plumpness of Jack Black. I’m talking Tor Johnson fat, the hulking kind where we hyperventilate and sweat profusely every time we’re forced to leave the comfort of our well-worn, barbeque-stained recliner by the TV. And did I mention we’re ridiculously lazy?

And now, apparently, we’re too lethargic to move our forks three inches across the plate to get some chicken. We need everything in a bowl, layered like a horribly-deranged casserole. We want mashed potatoes, chicken, corn, gravy and cheese (wait … cheese?) all in one sporkful. We’re sick and tired of chasing corn across our plates, trying desperately to spear a few kernels with the always-cumbersome fork. We’ve suffered far too long for our food, and it’s about damn time they give us what we want. Bless you, KFC. Bless you.

Honestly, it’s like society has entered into a sort of collective haze, where a bowl full of whatever they scrape off the preparation table sounds appealing. I’d like to be present when someone wakes up from this dreamlike state while eating one of these Famous Bowls. A look of horror will cross his face as he looks upon the appalling meal before him, his eyes wide with fear. “What in God’s name am I eating?”

His wife, halfway through her own Famous Bowl, will attempt to calm him. “Honey, relax. It’s layers of flavor. You love layers of flavor!” She’ll smile and take a large bite of corn-riddled, cheese-covered mashed potatoes.

He’ll panic, flipping the table over in a violent rage. Pimple-faced KFC employees will rush to restrain him, but, much like the incredible Hulk, his fury cannot be contained. After flinging the helpless employees from him like so many rag dolls, he’ll shatter a window and flee into the woods to live among the wolves.

His wife will be too caught up in her Famous Bowl to care.

For the record: 700 calories, 31 grams of fat (9 saturated) and 2110 mg sodium. Obviously, the last thing our fat-load country needs is “layers of flavor.”


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  2. Nice choice of picture. That looks like about the most disgusting thing I've ever set eyes upon. I feel sick to my stomach just looking at the bowl of sludge.
    You know, I'm sensing a theme here. There are all these little things that make our country laughable and rediculous (the "famous" bowls, the roller-shoes, etc). I enjoy your commentary on them tremendously. Americans need to be told how ridiculous they are more often. I'm glad you've taken up the job. I commend you.

    That is all.

  3. Those roller-shoes. Raaah. I went to the South Hill Mall the other day, and like every person under the age of 14 had them. It was fucked up.

  4. If I might borrow a little something from my good friend comedian Patton Oswald:

    "Can you pile all of those food items into a single bowl so that I can eat it with a spoon like I'm a death row prisoner on suicide watch...Um yes we can do that, we can also arrange those separately on a plate like your an adult with dignity and self-respect. "

    America has spoken: Pile my food in a bowl and make a hillock out of it. And until we can invent lunch guns we'll all have to make do with make do with a failure pile in a sadness bowl.

  5. There's an advertisement on an easel-like contraption near the entrance to Lecture Hall 4 (which conveniently houses three of my four classes,) on Western Washington campus. It's for McDonald's dollar menu, and it reads, "Until you can illegally download food, this is your best deal."
    Wait a minute, McDonald's. I think you forgot the deal where I eat food that isn't slew on their grease-soaked, death-permeating fat farms. That's totally a better deal.
    Or the deal where I just steal food. Mathematically speaking, at least, that's a much better deal than a dollar menu.
    Imagine a bank saying in their advertisement, "Until you can illegally download 20 dollar bills, these APR rates are the best deal around."
    By the way, is APR rates redundant, like TGIF Friday? Or ATM machine? Or NASA waste of money?
    I mean, don't get me wrong, I would be the first to sign up to control a gigantic robot in outer space, incidentally left with the daunting task of saving the entire galaxy. If that's NASA's program, then I apologize and I'm all kinds of for it.
    But should that black abyss ever be commercialized, I'm totally joining whichever side creates the first giant robot suit with a cockpit either in the chest or face. Even if that means the Iranians. I'm that dedicated to the cause.
    Or, God forbid, Republicans.
    Point is, McDonald's sucks. Buh dah bah BAH buh...
    If O.J. came out with a theme song that went "Buh dah bah BAH buh...I'm not glovin' it, but if I was, here's how I'd do it," I would totally iTunes that immediately. The whole chapter about how he had the bloody knife and he "blacked out," which I think is slang for went crazy on their asses, and he came to at his house with a bloody knife.
    I mean, didn't he evade police? Wasn't he wearing a fake beard and carrying large amounts of 'cash money,' as Fez would say? And didn't he have motive? And isn't he black?
    I mean, that sounds open and shut.
    Love your stuff, Matt. You invariably seem to recall things you do with an old-timey british feel, i.e. the monocle and tea time, but you speak a permutation of the truth. I like to call it, H Rutt.
    I need to get me a blog. Sorry for using up your space on my spiel. Enjoy the night!


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