by Ross Sharp

Sometime last year I clocked a news item somewhere about a brand new type of instant foodstuff that had been introduced to the dear hearts and gentle people of the good ol’ U.S. of A.

This foodstuff was gifted to a grateful populace by the hard-workin’ and no doubt God-fearin’ folk of the K.F. of C, a fowl cookin’ establishment that was founded by a kindly old white-haired Colonel many years ago which went on to find fame and fortune throughout the entire world on account of a secret cookin’ recipe that involved a bunch of fancy spices and herbs and stuff, and this new foodstuff was called a “Double Down”.

This new foodstuff has now been introduced to the peckish populace that is Australia, all of whom are currently hotfootin’ their way to the nearest K.F. of C. to partake of its pickin’s.

It is known here as a “Double” and comprises two chicken fillets that have been dipped in some shit and deep fried and then used to sandwich a few strips of bacon and some cheese and an ejaculation of sauce.

It’s served in a cardboard holder, so you can keep your fingers from gettin’ greasy so as to keep your shirt and pants clean.

Now, I’d no sooner eat one of these unappetising looking things than I’d chew on my left testicle, but Lord Almighty, the arrival of this breadless assemblage of fowl, pig and cheddar has certainly upset some folk.

Why, you make a meal out of just one of these things it seems, your arteries will go harder than a porn star’s favourite tool of trade after forty tabs of Viagra, your heart will clog up like a sub-continental hostel toilet, and great big glistening globules of undigested fat will coagulate into an oily, rancid mass of greasy evil that will slowly ooze its way through your intestine into your bowel and make your farts smell like dead people and the next time you shit, your buttocks will be propelled from the seat with such a  force that you’ll hit your head on the bathroom ceiling, crack your skull and fall to the floor dead, and the sewers of a city will be stuffed for months ever after.

Bugger your wars, your droughts, your famines, floods, your natural and unnatural disasters, your man-made horrors, rape, pillage, bugger all that.

Because it’s two slabs of fried chicken will kill us all.

You have been warned.


(Cross-posted from Groupthink)