You just made my list!

I quit.

When you “double down” in the game of blackjack you are essentially doubling your risk with the hopes of doubling your reward.* When you force Kentucky Fried Chicken’s latest crime against humanity, the Double Down sandwich, down your gaping maw you are doubling your toilet’s reward.

Is it possible KFC is playing an elaborate, multimillion dollar prank on the world? Is this one of Andy Samberg’s HILARIOUS Digital Shorts? Even Kentucky Fried Chicken needs to convince themselves this monstrosity is not just a bad dream. The first sentence out of their greasy mouths on the official Double Down page is “The new KFC Double Down sandwich is real!” Even they can’t believe how fucking disgusting people are. I would not be surprised if they started pushing the limits even further just to see what they can get away with. Chicken fat shakes? Napkins made out of chicken skin? Perhaps they can bypass the whole eating thing and just force grease up your ass with a giant hose.

The thing I love about how uneducated we** are about food is that I actually found a few girlie “diet” websites taking about what a great diet sandwich this will be because it doesn’t have bread, A.K.A. carbs. Do I even need to waste my time dissecting this theory? TWO SLABS OF FRIED CHICKEN, TWO STRIPS OF BACON, TWO MELTED SLICES OF CHEESE AND THE “COLONEL’S SAUCE!” I’m going to get into those skinny jeans by June!

I’m exhausted just from looking at the photo of this piece of shit.

*Shut up, I realize this is not technically correct but I’m not writing a Guide to Blackjack here!

** Not me, I’m a genius.

We’ve all been there. You’re staying at a hotel with one of those wall-mounted mirrors and you decided to extend it from the wall and take a look at yourself. You think, “Not too shabby, I’d fuck me. I would give myself a handjob at the very least.” This is where the story should end, but we all have that sick fascination with the other side of the mirror. The evil side. The dark side. You know the outcome of this little experiment of yours and yet you still take your dumb hand and flip the mirror over to reveal the most disgusting thing you have ever seen… your own face!

Suddenly a combination of Mackenzie Phillips and Edward James Olmos is staring back at you and every zit you have ever had in your entire life is visible again. Hey look, there’s that zit that ruined prom! Every pore looks like a cat’s butthole and your eyes look like rivers of blood held in place by spaghetti.

The nightmare is far from over though. A sane person would push the mirror away, allowing it to smash against the wall, but you are drawn to this horror show like a fly to shit. Oh no my friend, you lean in for a closer look. Sicko.

Sweet Jesus, can’t you tell from the pained look on my face and the way I’m touching my nose that you have a booger hanging by a thread in your nostril? Oh God, please, I’m begging you with all my mind power to shoot it out with a hardy nose laugh. PLEASE let me just pick it! ANYTHING TO END THIS PAIN!

I’m not sure there is anything that makes me more uncomfortable than having a conversation while a little booger mocks me from the outer limits of its established universe. If someone was to start pooping on the floor in the middle of a conversation with me, I don’t think it would make me feel as uneasy as some dried-up booger flapping around in the wind.

Why are those tiny boogers so mesmerizing? I feel like my eyes are attached to them by a wire when I see one. I want to look away but I find it physically impossible. Maybe if I stare at it hard enough I can make it explode into booger dust.

Everything you never wanted to know about the word booger, explained by a mail-order Russian bride who thinks she is hotter than she is. I hate the internet.

Much like the Terminator, you can be sure that after you eat Wendy’s “Baconator” it too will be back.

Do I really need to “conquer” my food? Ted Nugent and Sarah Palin may love to bring their food to its knees, but I just need something that will go down and come out the other end without trying to kill me in the process. Don’t get me wrong, I hate fussy food, but I also don’t need a fucking pizza on top of my pretzel. How in the hell am I supposed to walk around the mall and impress 18-year-old girls (or their moms) when I’m trying to balance a pizza on top of my God damn pretzel? I’m already carrying 4 bags from Hot Topic!

A Triple Baconator clocks in at:
1330 calories
86 grams of fat
780 calories coming from fat.

Let me put that into perspective for your fat ass… a Big Mac has 540 calories with 29 grams of fat and 260 calories from fat. In other words, a Triple Baconator is like eating 2.5 Big Macs. The recommended caloric intake for a 25 year old male who is 6 feet / 175 lbs is about 2500-2900 depending on how active they are. So let’s add medium fries and a large Coke to your Wendy’s order, please drive to the first window. Congratulations you just consumed 2020 calories and 106 grams of fat in ONE MEAL! I’m sweating just from the thought of it.

Your body literally does need to conquer that son-of-a-bitch!

If you can’t live without your precious Baconator, you might as well class it up a bit.

OH-MY-GOD-I’M-GOING-TO-BARF

I know, we all have at least a couple of these unwanted little shits hanging around, but if there was ever proof that God is cruel, it’s skin tags! Their official name is “acrochorda” but you could call them “happy pretty sugar sacks” and they would still be just as disgusting. It’s not even that I think they are gross on other people, it’s more that when I find one on my body I feel like cutting my own head off.

I get happy pretty sugar sacks on my neck sometimes and usually don’t notice them until they get poked or snagged by my shirt collar. I can promise you this, the second they make themselves known I reach for the tweezers. Yeah, that’s right, I rip them off with all the subtlety of a wolf shaking a bunny to death. Do wolves eat bunnies?

I’m going to throw up.

God really fucked up when he created the centipede. I mean what the hell was he thinking? If his intention was to create an insect so creepy that it could cause me to piss my pants every time I see one, then bravo God, you win! There is only one thing worse than a living centipede, and that’s a freshly killed centipede. It’s not enough that they look like an 8th grade mustache scooting across your wall when they are alive, but they somehow manage to look even more disgusting when dead with their twitching, hairy legs.

Way to go God, you dick.

First of all, I worked in a restaurant for two years and I know first hand how INCREDIBLY difficult and stressful it can be. Working in a busy restaurant sucks giant hairy ass because every time you start your shift you know the next 8 hours are guaranteed to be total chaos. EVERY DAY!

So anyway, I went to lunch at a nice-ish restaurant with two coworkers (fuck you, yes I have a job) and a couple of us ordered the tortilla soup appetizer. What we received looked more like orange chili or maybe this, but OK not a big deal. Before the first spoonful touched my lips I already smelled something suspect but I like to live on the edge so into my mouth it went. YUMMY, soapy bleach, just like mom used to make when she wanted me to slowly die! I took another small bite and it was clear something had gone horribly wrong with this soup. I asked my friend is she felt the same way and of course she did because it tasted like hobo’s armpit.

We quietly discussed the possibility of sending the soup back but didn’t want to be dicks. Ultimately we decided it needed to be sent back but unfortunately our waitress refused to check back with us. I think she saw us discussing the soup and was avoiding us. Finally she stopped by with our sandwiches and in my shyest, most polite voice I said “I’m sorry, I know you are going to think we are crazy but this soup does not taste right. I really think there is something wrong with it.”

Her reaction? She stared at us like we just said “I think this soup is evil, it’s stealing our thoughts.” All she said was a long, sarcastic “O Kaaaaaaaaaay” before removing the bowls of poison soup. Here’s the thing, even if we WERE dicks and the soup was JUST FINE she still should have said “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Let me take these from you and check with the chef.” Then she can go into the kitchen and flip us off or spit in our food but to our face at least PRETEND to give a shit.

She never said sorry once. Well, that’s not entirely true, when dropping off the check she lazily said “again, I’m sorry about the soup.” Again? Again? Too late to start working for that tip.

I realize this long boring story about my soup seems trivial but I just fucking hate people in the service industry who treat you like shit when you are being VERY polite to them. I don’t care if you hate your job, most people do, deal with it. I have worked some HORRIBLE jobs but I never took it out on the customer, it wasn’t their fault that I was too stupid to get a good job.

Be like me, I am perfect.