Did I Eat That? - KFC Double Down

Roughly 8 months ago I, along with many of you came across this gem. However, unlike most of you, I was positively ecstatic about the prospect of one day treating myself to a small pile of fried chicken covered in corn syrup-based koala semen substitute. The way I see it, if, in his infallibly infinite and all-knowing wisdom, Colonel Sanders has decided my life should end in a salty, greasy, fat clogged stroked out blaze of glory then who am I to argue with him?

So I bided my time, waiting for KFC to finally turn this sickeningly scrumptious snack concept into tummy-turning reality. And then it was here, April 12, 2010. With a combination of impatience and shame shooting through my veins I sped through the KFC drive-thru, flinging my crumpled up tender at the poor schmuck at the window while simultaneously snatching my goody bag from his grasp. Once safely back home I tore through the paper bag which sported the likeness of the Colonel, his eternal grin mocking me in my helpless state. The smell of fried poultry hit my nostrils as my fingertips locked in on the greasy masterpiece which was now at my mercy. I took a bite. And what a bite it was! My tongue was besieged by the combination of salt, grease, spices, and animal fat. It was almost too much to process, each individual component losing itself in the entirety of the Double Down experience. There was just the right amount of Swiss cheese, the proper dosage of special sauce, and a perfect strip of bacon. In short, I was impressed.


Result: Despite my trepidation that I would feel dirty and ill after consuming this abomination of all things sandwich, I actually walked away from the feeding grounds relatively sated and none the worse for wear. It turns out this little puppy has more bark than bite. But kudos to you Colonel, due to a successful combination of an impressive array of flavors your beast is indeed a beauty. The Double Down receives 3.75 Golden Tongues out of a possible 5 Golden Tongues. It's a shame I can't give it more but, surprisingly, it just wasn't revolting enough to make a significant impression on my digestive tract.

Where Do They Find These People?

Ever since pop (super?)star Pink pulled of a flawlessly amazing performance at the Grammy Awards a few months ago, I couldn't stop thinking "What would it be like if a very large, muscular man with the nimbleness of a rhino and the creativity of a post-lobotomy Rosemary Kennedy tried to pull this off?"

Just a few days ago millions of wrestling fans acr- okay, thousands. Hundreds? Fourteen? Fine, Just a few days ago all fourteen remaining wrestling fans found the answer to that question. Enjoy. Or not. Whichever.

Did I Eat That? - Kool-Aid Pickle Edition

As you may know, I consider myself a connoisseur of all foods obscure and odd. So when I accidentally came across a website mentioning Kool-Aid pickles I knew had to make a batch and try them out for myself. It easily satisfied three of the twenty "Did I Eat That?" criteria - Criteria #3 At first glance this food item immediately disturbs notions previously created by my taste buds, Criteria #7 Food item is Southern in origin, and last but not least Criteria #15 Food item combines two separately delightful flavors in a way I would never have imagined on my own.

So one doubly potent batch of Tropical Punch Kool-Aid and one container of B&G New York Style Deli Pickles combination (and roughly two weeks) later there I was, staring down the crimson cuke. And then, a few bites later, it was all gone. What happened in between was a sweet, sour, salty, spicy, fruity experience that pregnant woman all over the country would be sending their husbands to K-Mart for. I must admit, though I was excited to try this creation, I didn't think I'd actually like them. But gosh darnit I do and I'm not entirely sure why. I don't think my tongue would actively seek out this treat on its' own, once I crammed the punched-up pickle in my mouth it begrudgingly accepted and then totally caved and gave into complete enjoyment.

Result:
The Kool-Aid pickle gets a solid 3 Tongues Out of a possible 5 tongues. I don't think I'd go out of my way eat this again, but they were a treat worth trying.

From the Diary of a (Kinda) Mad (Half) Black Guy: Shut up Torii Hunter

Oh Mr. Torii Hunter when will you learn to quiet that mouth of yours? As easy as it is to be a fan of your amazing play in the field it is getting equally difficuly to hear you whine and cry at every given oppurtunity. Whether you're complaining about "unfair" amounts of coverage given to big market teams, calling your teammates out for milking injuries, or telling the loyal fans of Minnesota that supported you for years that you thought New York fans were smarter than them, your ability to say the most inane things has slowly ceased to amaze me. Until now. Please read the following comments Hunter let loose during a recent interview -

"People see dark faces out there, and the perception is that they're African American. They're not us. They're impostors.Even people I know come up and say, 'Hey, what color is Vladimir Guerrero? Is he a black player?' I say, 'Come on, he's Dominican. He's not black. As African-American players, we have a theory that baseball can go get an imitator and pass them off as us. It's like they had to get some kind of dark faces, so they go to the Dominican or Venezuela because you can get them cheaper. It's like, 'Why should I get this kid from the South Side of Chicago and have Scott Boras represent him and pay him $5 million when you can get a Dominican guy for a bag of chips?'... I'm telling you, it's sad."

No, no, no, no Torii. What is sad is that because you can hit a baseball and cover center field as good as anyone in the bigs you get to assume the role of someone with an opinion that actually matters. Even more unfortunate is the fact that you could not have been more woefully wrong and ignorant in your statement, as you assert your ability to speak for all African-American players. Allow me to debunk your "facts" please.

1. "The perception is that they're African-American." - Qwhhaa? You mean to tell me that you think the majority of America thinks that guys with names like Soriano, Sosa, and Ortiz are African-American? Maybe I'm a bit behind the times but I believe it's pretty common knowledge that these guys are not. Though I must admit, I was pretty darn surprised to find out that Bernie Williams hailed from Puerto Rico. He might have been a plant. I'll give you that much.

2. "What color is Vladimir Guerrero? Is he a black player?" - Yes he is Torii. Many occupants of the Caribbean Islands descend from the very same African slave trade that you do. They are black Torri, just like you. Well no, not just like. They don't all have overblown inferiority complexes.

3. "It's like they had to get some kind of dark faces, so they go to the Dominican or Venezuela because you can get them cheaper." - Really Torii?
David Ortiz - $13mil per
Manny Ramirez - $20mil per
Vladimir Guerrero - $15mil per
That's a lot of effin potato chips buddy...

Look Torii Hunter, you're an idiot. I know it, you might not know it, but now a whole lot more people know it. So do us all a favor and shut up before I get even more (kinda) mad.

Fun with Curling

If you're like most Americans, you probably turned on the Olympics at some point during their run, and came across a sport involving two individuals vigorously sweeping the path of a kettle-shaped sphere. You also soon learned that this inane act was known as curling, but could not for the life of you figure out the significance of the name, nor any rhyme or reason to the actions. You are not alone.

But now the Olympics are over and none of that is important (read: curling was never important). What is important is how Karl Stefanovic and Lisa Wilkinson of Aussie's Today Show used the Nintendo Wii to take curling to a whole new level of unintentional hilarity. Enjoy.

Internet Awesome of the Day

In a given week I would guess I spend approximately 60 - 70 hours surfing the internet. Now, while I'm not particularly proud of this figure, you may agree that anyone who spends such in inordinate amount of time foresaking potential career advancement and social interaction for the unholy Lord of the Googles has pretty much seen just about everything there is to see. And until today I'd have been with you. And then I saw this - Too awesome for description

Good luck putting your mind back together.

From the Diary of (Very) Mad (Half) Black Man: Fuck You Keith Bardwell

Yes, fuck you Keith Bardwell. You simple-minded, backwoods jackhole of a human being. For those unfamiliar with Mr. Bardwell, he is a Louisiana justice of the peace who lovingly performs wedding ceremonies for the couples of Tangipahoa Parish - unless they're interracial.

Bardwell asserts that he is not a racist, citing the "facts" that interracial marriages do not typically last and that the children of these unions are not accepted by society. Oh yea, he also has "piles and piles of black friends." Yea, I've never heard that one before.

But in truth, I must say I agree with Bardwell. Interracial marriages do not typically last long and their children do have difficulty being accepted by society. However, in the U.S. of A. of 2009 most marriages of any race or combination do not last long. I cite declining morals and the media's proliferation of unrealisitc expectations of the blessed sacrament, you blame skin color. Po-tey-toh, Po-tah-toh eh? And if we learned nothing else from the late John Hughes it's that all children are going to feel rejected by society. Rent the Breakfast Club, it's all right there with nary a mulatto in sight. If you need to borrow a VCR just let us know, we'll bring one right over.

So,Keith Bardwell,take your can of Spam, milk carton of corn liquor and your 50's era social opinions and get back in your trailer. And please do shut up, if only for the sake of the children.

McGangBang Meet Your Match!

I, like many of you loyal readers, first read about the McGangBang here almost three months ago. I was immediately shocked, disheartened in humanity, and…intrigued.

See, dear friends, I have a problem. Though I am normally pretty mindful of the food I ingest, I have a marked weakness for ingeniously grotesque food items. The creatively vomitastic, if you will. I don’t exactly seek these items out, but they seem to find me. The Luther Burger, grasshopper tacos, Scotch Eggs – all have presented themselves and been summarily consumed.

But I was scared of the McGangBang. True, but not for the reasons one might think. To be honest, I wasn’t terribly impressed by it, and was frightened by the prospect that I might be completely underwhelmed after eating one. What would that say about me?

Well, about a month ago I decided to throw caution to the wind and give the McGangBang a go. I skipped right on down to my local Mickey D’s, slapped one together aaaand…. M’eh.

I’ve been more impressed by the amount of meat in some sushi rolls I’ve inhaled. It seriously wasn’t even worth the blog post I planned to write about the McGangBang experience. What was I to do? Blaine would surely have my head for this. Then, after a month of hiding out, it suddenly came to me...

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce, for your culinary delight, a Diary of Fools exclusive menu first – The McDP!!

The McDP (aptly named for its ability to allow the two sandwiches to cause exponentially more pleasure and damage than either could ever dream of on their own) consists of an entire McDonald’s Southern Style Chicken Sandwich jammed tightly between the two buns of the ever-classic Double Quarter Pounder with cheese. Though the semi-coma I fell into while consuming this masterpiece prevents me from remembering most of the appearance, I will share the following which I found scribbled on greasy notepad after awakening:

scrumtrulescent

melted cheese substance coats entire mouth easing ingestion

Pickles!

crunchy and succulent

I feel fat

is this real life?

I'm convinced this is not animal meat

ashamed...

From the Diary of a (Kinda) Mad (Half) Black Man: Chia Obama?!?!

Traditionally, April showers have been known to bring the same ole’ May flowers. But now, thanks to Joseph Enterprises, creators of the ever-popular and amusing ‘Chia’ line, April showers will now stimulate the growth of your very own presidential afro. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you – Chia Obama! Available in both “Determined” and “Happy” this botanic bust of the 44th President of U.S. of A. is available nationwide and can be found in between the terra cotta likenesses of such luminaries as Elmer Fudd and Kung-Fu Panda. Or perhaps he will be alongside Garfield, Shrek, and Bart Simpson. Maybe Scooby-Doo and Shrek? Starting to see a trend here? Not limited to cartoons, Chia creations also come in the form of animals, trees, even an alarm clock. At this point it hardly seems like an honor for our President to be chosen for a Chia portrayal. Actually starts to become a bit of an insult.

In fact, the only other human being who has ever been Chia-ized is the venerable Mr. T. No disrespect to Mr. Lawrence Tureaud, the man who introduced 'jibba-jabba' to American lexicon, but even he would admit he is hardly of the same distinction as President Obama. Factoring in his appearances in the first two Wrestlemanias, his 1-800-Collect commercials, and his most famous roles as B.A. Baracus and Clubber Lang, the guy was practically born for clay immortality. For Chrissake he was an actual cartoon at one point!

So why choose these two iconic figures above all others? I took the liberty of noting the similarities between the ‘T’ man and our fair President.

1. Some level of African descent.
2. Ability to grow an afro.

…

Not exactly the strictest of criteria, huh? Now I get that Obama is one of the most marketable beings on the planet right now. But I find it hard to believe that a Dubya Chia wouldn’t have sold just as well. Or Albert Einstein and Jerry Garcia for that matter. Maybe a fro of foliage just seems more amusing atop a re-creation of a Black likeness. I might just be missing the point, but I am not amused. And since Walgreen's has pulled Chia Obama from its shelves, I imagine I’m far from alone.

Cartoons, animals, and black people. Sounds like the cast of a 40’s era Warner Bros. cartoon. But this is 2009 and I expect more. Even from a Chia pet, dammit!

The Curious Case of J.J.

At some point in our lives, we have all been there. We've all been confronted with random acts of ignorance or stupidity. Be it the jerk that cuts us off in traffic, the cashier who can't count quite fast enough, or the idiot blaring unbelievably loud metal music from his headphones in a public place, you have, at some point in your life, encountered a situation that made you pause and rethink your moral opinion on the use of violence as a means of expression. As rational human beings, we are quickly able to catch ourselves before our inner Charles Manson is unleashed. But there is that moment, before you come to your senses, where you stop and think "I swear, if I had a gun..."

Enter James Joseph Cialella, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. While attending a Christmas night viewing of 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button', J.J. became irritated by a family of incessant noisemakers. Thoroughly disturbed that his Brad Pitt fix was being interrupted, J.J. implored the family to cease its clamor. His polite request was rebuffed and J.J. retaliated by tossing popcorn at a young son in the family. Finding that this was not a sufficient outlet for his troubles, Mr. Cialella rose from his seat and approached the family. As J.J. neared, the father of this rambunctious family rose from his own seat and was subsequently greeted by a shot in the arm from J.J.'s .380-caliber handgun.

Now it's up to you to decide how you feel about this story. You may call J.J. a monster, a lunatic, a sociopath. You may feel that his actions were unwarranted and unnecessary. But if you dig deep a bit deeper you will realize that there is a bit of J.J. lurking within us all. And then, perhaps, you will call him a hero.

And really, shouldn't we turn our attention to the real question - Why was a 29 year-old man alone watching 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' on Christmas night? That, my dear friends, is the true crime.

Champions of Society: One Giant Tool

"Our children are getting killed with guns in the street. Our police are getting killed...That's why the state legislature passed the automatic sentence if you get caught with an illegal gun.

"I think it would be an outrage if we didn't prosecute to the fullest extent of the law, particularly people who live in the public domain ... If we didn't prosecute to the fullest extent, then I don't know who on earth you would."

It is a sad state of affairs when New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg is using these words, not to condemn the actions of the latest gun-toting serial rapist, purse snatcher, or crazed financial analyst to threaten Manhattan, but rather to express his outrage at the star wide receiver of the New York Giants - Plaxico Burress. A glock wielding football player.

Fresh off an epic Super Bowl XLII win in which his game-winning touchdown catch helped the Giants topple the previously undefeated New England Patriots, Mr. Burress earned himself a five - year, $35,000,000 contract extension going into this season. A pretty good year by any account.

Not content to, well, be content, Plaxico (named after his uncle, in case you were wondering) immediately pulled out his autographed copy of "How to Completely Ruin Your Sports Marketablity" by Dennis Rodman (with foreword by O.J. Simpson and introduction by 'Iron" Mike Tyson) and was inspired to (1) skip summer practice sessions while in the midst of a contract dispute, earning him a fine from the Giants,(2) engage in repeated marital disputes resulting in police twice being summoned to his New Jersey home, both visits resulting in his wife taking out temporary restraining orders against him,(3) fail to show up at a team practice during the season, resulting in a two week, one game suspension and (4)be fined by the NFL $45,000 for verbally abusing an official. I'm still waiting for him to release a rap album and be quoted as saying "Barack Obama doesn't care about Black people."

Flashforward to this past Saturday night. Plaxico decided to head out for a night on the town. Already on the injured reserve list, Plaxico did not have any obligation to be physically prepared for the next day's game which he would receive roughly $687,500 to NOT play in. The Giants teammates he brought along with him? The probably should've been home in bed. Already caught up in this whirlwind of stupidity and gross negligence, Mr. Burress decided to make yet another mind-jarringly moronic move before leaving the house, tucking his .40 Glock semiautomatic pistol into his waistband. Upon arriving at the LQ nightclub in midtown Manhattan, Burress was asked to remove the bullets from his illegally possessed weapon and, while doing so, shot himself clear through the thigh.

And now Plaxico finds himself in the spotlight. Not for an incredible play or a record-breaking game, but for his ultimate bonehead blunder, the crescendo of his bumbling, idiotically composed symphony. This news is so big in New York that he garnered the front page over the events in Mumbai, the financial crisis, the Stephon Marbury Saga, and whatever Lindsay Lohan did Saturday night. Burress initially laughed off the entire incident, but after being arrested and facing a sentence upwards of 3 1/2 years, methinks there isn't much laughter in the Burress household. Even P. Diddy's lawyer might not be able to get him out of this one. Where, oh where is Shyne when you need him?

Cheer up Plaxico, I hear there's an opening at the center position on Big Rocco's Bruisers of the Rikers Island Penitentiary Shower Football League. And even if that doesn't work out, you will always be a Champion of Society.