If you’re unaware what the Double Down is, it is KFC’s latest sandwich. If you can classify it as a sandwich. You see, I’ve always defined sandwiches as at least two pieces of bread with meat or jam or mayonnaise stuck in between. Actually, I don’t care what you put in between the bread (you can put in Tom Selleck’s dick in there for all I care), because there’s bread in there. Yes, bread is supposed to be the constant in every sandwich.
But you see, KFC just decided to throw the fucking bread away and put in bacon slices in between two fucking chicken patties. It contains a whopping 540 calories, 32g of fat and 1380mg of sodium. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was actually an attempt to murderize the general population by giving them all sorts of obesity-related illnesses in three years time. I’m no stranger to near-suicidal culinary choices – I’ve tried the Baconator, the Double Quarter Pounder, and the McGangbang – but I swear, the Double Down is fucking crazy.
I had to try it.
As I lined up at the nearest KFC, I was wondering at what the hell “Double Down” means. It obviously refers to the two slices of chicken, but it still doesn’t make that much sense. After a few minutes of deep meditation I simply concluded that it means that you’ll probably faint as you eat it and probably die in a few minutes.
As the girl in the counter greeted me with her wide smile, I pretended to thoughtfully scan the menu for a couple of seconds before I made my choice. I looked at her straight in the eye and said very, very, carefully: “I’d like to have a Double Down, please.” Her smile disappeared. She was eyeing me with suspicion (and probably revulsion too, but I’m used to that), and she tapped the counter for a couple of minutes before saying anything.
“Sir, two things: the Double Down is going to be launched April 12, and even then it’s not going to be available here in the Philippines yet.”
“Yes, I’m quite aware of that. You see, I write comedy for the internet – do you know I get lots of hits for ‘Maria Ozawa herpes?’ No? – and I tend to put myself in a lot of compromising situations for the benefit of my readers. Which is why I need to clog my arteries further with your Double Down. I need it.”
“Sir, what you’re asking me is impossible. I can’t give you a Double Down, it’s not on our menu and-”
“That’s bullshit, lady! I know you can serve me a Double Down. Just make me one and I’ll be on my way!”
By this time, five other KFC employees have gathered around the girl I was talking to. She glanced at what looks like the manager, and they looked at each other for a good five seconds before the manager tentatively nodded her head. The manager looked at me with what I assume to be pity in her eyes, did the sign of the cross, and she ran away, sobbing like crazy. So they punched my order, I paid for it like any other good citizen would, and they gave me a number.
As I waited by my table for my order, I was contemplating on why the hell KFC would even consider unleashing this sort of evil on the world. Yes, I think the KFC Double Down is evil incarnate, born with the sign of Beelzebub etched on its scalp, if it had a scalp. And yes, I am going to put one in my mouth.
Then I heard a bell ringing, then the smell of brimstone filled the air. I see a guy carrying a tray with my Double Down on it, and he was walking slowly, almost purposely, towards me. I don’t know if I was imagining things, but I swear I could see some sort of faint flame surrounding the goddamned devil sandwich, accompanied by scary laughter in the background.
The server stops in front of me. Before he sets the tray down on my table, he flicks his wrist and my table goes aflame. I scream the usual “HOLY SHIT DUDE ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME” as I jump back, then the flame goes out as quickly as it started. Then I saw that the fire etched a pentagram on the table. Cool. He now puts my Double Down right in the middle of the pentagram, and he steps back, leering at me as he slowly walks away. Backwards. Who the hell does that?
As I was about to take a bite off the Double Down, the manager who earlier was crying went up to me and persuaded me to not eat the fucking sandwich. “Don’t do it!” she cried. “If you take just one bite, you are going to be past the point of no return! Do you understand? Brimstone and fire!” Who the fuck tries to interrupt you with stories of demonic doom while you’re trying to eat? It wasn’t enough that two of her staff are doing some kind of weird dance while sacrificing a chicken in anticipation of my eating the stupid sandwich, now someone has to scare me with devils and hell and shit.
So I flipped them all off and I took a bite. Suddenly everything else around me became silent as everyone dropped what they were doing to stare at me. Wide-eyed. It was then I realized I wasn’t in the KFC branch anymore. The whole place reeks of sulfur, and I could feel nothing else but victory. I have defeated the Double Down and all the hordes of hell are coming to greet me. As they carried me on their shoulders towards my throne, I did the hand horn gesture and a demon took out a Flying V and did a sweet-ass death metal solo which segued into the chorus of Hotel California.
Also, the Double Down was a little salty and oily, and the bacon was kind of soggy when it got to me. It was okay.
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