Microwave Goodness = Oxymoron?...

It's been about a week, and I still can't get the awful taste of Aunt Jemima's breakfast abortion out of my mouth. I even tried eating a raw onion to overpower the sucktitude of said sandwich. No dice. I thought about setting my tongue on fire, but I'm not sure I want to resort to that level of insanity yet. I'm still debating the finer points of going through life without being able to taste anything, as opposed to tasting nothing but rotten "sausage" patty for another week. Sausage is in quotations because I'm not entirely convinced it was actually meat approved for human consumption. God damn that was an awful sandwich. Have I gotten that point across sufficiently? Good. Let's move on to something much more tasty, and much less "Holy fuck this sandwich is so awful, I want to kill myself".

You should probably know that my microwave gets more use than any other appliance in my apartment. That's if you don't count the steam-powered, pneumatic vagina that resides in my closet. But we're not counting that, are we?

Now don't get me wrong. I can cook. In fact, I'm quite good at it. I just don't like cooking for me and only me, and I live alone. Why spend an hour making dinner when there is no one to impress but myself?

"Wow Kris, this is a great dinner. You've really outdone yourself."

"Why thanks Kris. That's a nice new haircut by the way."

I'm not saying I don't have conversations with myself, but that's generally not one of them. And you all know what a comment whore I am. I need validation dammit, and preferably from someone other than myself. Telling myself how awesome I am kind of feels like a copout after all these years. Also, my 80s movies aren't going to watch themselves, and all those sweet toys on eBay aren't going to bid on themselves for my benefit. I just don't have the time to make big elaborate meals, when the only person I'm impressing is me. For these reasons, a large portion of my diet consists of frozen entrees. Utilizing this "expertise" in microwave dining, I can tell you that about 60% of them are edible, while 35% are so vile, your tongue will shake its fist at you. If it had a fist. Unless it had a mouth, and then it would probably just call you a cunt. Then there's the remaining 5%. This tiny fraction of the total number of frozen entrees on the market always genuinely surprises me. These are the proud, the few, the "holy shit, this actually tastes GOOD!"

Today's entry consists of a frozen sandwich that easily earns its way into the illustrious 5. I'm giving this product a serious recommendation, so check them out if they are carried in your neck of the woods. Keep in mind, they are microwaveable, so don't expect to experience the greatest meal of your life. But as microwaveable food stuffs go, this is THE SHIT. Take a peek....

What you are looking at is a Stouffers Bistro Panini. I chose the Philly Cheesesteak variety, because cheese + steak = 4 levels of delicious. There are other types, some utilizing chicken, but if I see Philly Cheesesteak flavour fucking anything, you better believe I'm buying it. I would chew that shit as bubblegum if the geniuses at Wrigley's would get off their asses and do something about it.

Seriously though, you can't go wrong with beef, cheese, peppers and onions. At least for my tastes. It's alarming the sheer number of food products these days that include mushrooms in the recipe. I'm sure a good portion of you are mushroom lovers, so I don't mean to offend but.....fucking gross, man. Mushrooms are grown on SHIT. Literally. I'm sorry, but there isn't enough soap in the world to make that sound appealing to me. Deluxe frozen pizza? Mushrooms. Alfredo anything? Mushrooms. Beef Stroganoff? Goddamn mushrooms. Cambells Chunky Steak and Potato Soup? FUCKING MUSHROOMS!

But there aren't any mushrooms on you, Philly Cheesesteak Panini, are there? Not a one. Just beef, cheese, peppers and onions. That's the recipe for deliciousness, I don't care who you are. Take another look at the picture. Notice anything? It's actually fucking toasted! In the microwave! I think we need to get the scientists at Stouffers to start working on a cure for cancer, because toasting something in the microwave is fucking impressive. It's not soggy or anything. Color me impressed. Which is a deep shade of purple if I'm not mistaken. But as amazing as it is so far, it would be a small victory to have toasted bread out of the microwave, if the insides taste like ass. And I'm saying that from the point of view of someone that doesn't like the taste of ass. If you like the taste of ass, then you should change the last sentence to "it would be a small victory to have toasted bread out of the microwave, if the insides didn't taste like ass".

Actually, I'm not sure what ass tastes like. I guess I shouldn't knock it until I've tried it, but I don't think I'm ever going to get the urge to eat an asshole, so I stick by my original point. And that is just enough talk of "ass eating" for a post about microwaveable paninis. A little more of that, and we would officially be "overboard".

Anyway....the entire point of that was to say that toasted bread in the microwave is great, but the filling needs to be equally great, otherwise the entire effort is for naught. Naught is a vastly underused word, by the way. Just thought you should know. Here, take a look at the inside....

This thing is as close to looking like the picture on the package, as anything could be. And the taste? Oh my god, it is good. The cheese is abundant and stringy, the beef is flavorful and not overly chewy, and the peppers and onions are just the right level of crisp. If I didn't have an aversion to scalding hot cheese burns, I would happily rub the finished product all over my naked chest as I danced slowly, in a sultry way. I think I have some serious issues...

So if you don't feel like spending more than a couple of minutes cooking dinner tonight, check these out. Probably the best thing I've ever eaten out of the microwave. Not really that impressive of an endorsement I suppose, but I still give it....

4 out of 5 badly veiled sexual connotations

Bon Ape Tit

Aunt Jemima Makes Me a Sad Panda...

My computer lives! And just in the nick of time no less. You see, the last thing I need right now is an angry Ohioian on my tail. Any place (and by proxy, its citizens) that has declared Tomato Juice as it's "Official State Beverage" scares me just a little bit. So without further stalling...



I am not a "morning person" by any stretch of the imagination. Not even a little bit. I fucking hate alarm clocks with a passion that should really only be reserved for history's most heinous villains. My hatred of alarm clocks runs so deep that if I ever make a million dollars, the first thing I'm going to do is buy cases and cases of alarm clocks, just so I can fucking smash one every morning after it brutally wakes me from my peaceful slumber. For this job I will employ a comically over sized wooden mallet, and I will paint racing stripes on it.

I could easily sleep in until noon every day for the rest of my life, without once questioning whether or not I was "wasting the day". Sadly, office jobs rarely offer hours that begin at noon, so I'm forced to violently waken from whichever sweet dream I'm having, every morning at 7 am. Here's a rundown of an average morning in my life.

7 AM: My eyes fly open as the constant ringing from the alarm shocks me awake. Even though I wake up this way 5 days out of 7, my body seems to be genuinely surprised. I roll out of bed.

7:05 - 7:15 AM: Private time. I'll leave that to your imagination. Okay, I take a big shit. Have you ever thought about how difficult it is to sit on a toilet with a huge morning erection going on? Think about it.

7:15 - 7:30 AM: Time to prop myself up against the shower wall and let the water hit me in the face for fifteen minutes. Very little actual washing occurs, as I'm far too lethargic to lift a water heavy wash cloth.

7:30 - 7:55 AM: Check emails and chain smoke.

7:55 - 8 AM: Run out of my apartment in a mad rush as I realize I'm about to be late for the bus. (Seriously, I do this every morning. Fucking learn your lesson already, right?)

My morning ritual should tell you two very basic truths about me.

1. I'm a lazy bastard before my double double has a chance to kick in.
2. A complete breakfast is not a part of my vocabulary

The second point has a particularly nasty side effect. By about 10 AM, my stomach is calling me a huge asshole. And quite vigorously at that. But what am I supposed to do about it, really? Making breakfast is completely out of the question. It just isn't possible. How will I fit in all of the chain smoking if I have to cook on top of everything else? Wake up earlier you say? Quite impossible. I came to accept long ago that my destiny does not cross paths with breakfast often. Probably the reason I enjoy breakfast in the evening so much. But then, on an innocent trip to my local grocer, I spyed this. BEHOLD

A piping hot breakfast croissammich in 2 minutes?!?! I can spare two minutes. And it looks so tasty on the box. That must mean it IS tasty, right?

Hmmm.....is the sausage patty supposed to look that gray and diseased? Well, it doesn't matter what it looks like, right? It's the taste that counts, I rationalized.

Bite #1: I wonder if the croissant is supposed to be this crunchy?

Bite #2: Mmmm...I love mystery chunks of gristle....

Bite #3: Okay, something isn't right here....

Bite #4: I think I loudly proclaimed Aunt Jemima a cunt at this point, but to be fair, my memory is a bit fuzzy.

How could you subject me to this torture you call breakfast, Aunt Jemima? Haven't I always been there for you? I don't care if your syrup is a little more expensive than the generic brand. I stuck by you dammit. And for this, you pissed in my face. Et Tu Jemima....Et tu....

Maybe there is a silver lining though (I'm ever the optimist). Something this awful must be good for me! I can suffer a bit in the name of nutrition and proper dietary habits. I've abused my body pretty badly over the years, so the least I can do is give it a healthy meal every once in a while, regardless of the taste.

Wow. You are a cunt, Aunt Jemima. 350 calories and 23 grams of fat, in one baby fist sized croissant! I could almost eat an entire Big Mac for breakfast at the same fatty expense! You know how to kick a brother when he's down don't you?

FINAL SCORE: 1 out of 5 acts of corporate racism

I guess I'm just doomed to continue eking out a breakfastless existence. It sure as fuck beats waking up 15 minutes earlier....(shudder)

Next....a much more satisfying frozen dining experience....

I'm Holding Out for a Hero...

As the average blogger goes, I am somewhat less than prolific. But I don't have to tell you that, do I? While some people post a bit of writing almost every day, I tend to stick closer to the "once a week" rule of thumb. It's not that I don't have anything to say on a daily basis, but probably that I don't want to wear all of you out. The average person can only handle so much exposure to my bullshit, so I need to be careful not to burn you all out too quickly. I must refrain from blowing my proverbial load, if you will. It's difficult to make a cum reference sound classy, but I think I nailed that one.

Actually, I just lead somewhat of a dull existence, and its tough finding tons of stuff in my day to day adventures that I deem worthy of writing about. And let's be honest, some of the things I've written about are pretty stupid. Imagine the stuff I DON'T write about. Fucking scary.

So it was with some amusement tonight, that I realized I have 4 things I want to talk about. Expect me to be a whole lot more prolific over the next few days.

First up is something that you're either not going to care about at all, or you will consider it "old news". Way to start out with a bang, huh? A co-worker was kind enough to let me borrow his Season One DVDs of the TV show "Heroes". And I fucking love it! At this point, (if you're a fan of the show) you're probably thinking "I was enjoying Heroes 2 years ago! Where the fuck have you been, you loser!"

First off, names hurt.

Secondly, I have a very good reason for not watching the show up until yesterday. I just don't watch a lot of TV. Every now and then I'll catch a certain program, but never with a specific schedule. I've found that I can't live up to the type of commitment required of a weekly television show. Now back when the show was just starting out, it seemed that EVERYONE was watching it. And wanting to talk to me about it.

"DID YOU SEE HEROES LAST NIGHT!?!?!?!"

You could just tell from the ravenous look in their eyes, that they absolutely fucking NEEDED to discuss every little plot point and character revelation with me immediately.

"No, I guess I missed it...."

This was always met with an incredulous stare, followed by an awkward pause.

"Oh......well it was awesome....."

The sheer disappointment of a Heroes fan with no one around to analyze it with. Truly heartbreaking. Obviously, I knew I was missing out on something that could have been great, but I already knew what would happen. I've been down this road before. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me six times...

I would watch an episode or two, and then miss one or two and now I've missed so much story that I don't know what the fuck is going on, and why is that character kissing that other one, they hate each other, and when the fuck did that guy die, and who's that girl and why is she acting like that......

And then I smash my TV. And TVs are expensive, so I tend the avoid the entire scenario in the first place by just not watching it at all. But perhaps I was missing out on something truly special. Sadly, by the time I came to this realization, I had already missed half of the season. FAIL. Better luck next time loser.

Fortunately I have been known, from time to time, to exhibit a wee bit o' craftiness. "That's it! I'll just pick up the DVDs when they come out. Then I'll watch all of the episodes in order! Kris, you sly son of a bitch you..."

And then....I just sort of forgot about it, to be honest with you. It completely dropped off of my radar. The DVDs were released a while ago, and up until yesterday, I still hadn't known the joy of Heroes.

Well, since I received the DVDs yesterday, I have watched 9 episodes. Let that sink in for a minute. Including the 70 minute pilot, that means I've watched a little over 7 HOURS of Heroes in the last 24 hour period. That's fucking crazy! How the hell did I even find the time? Oh, that's right. I decided I needed to know more about Hiro and Peter and Claire, than I needed to sleep. Seriously, this show has me addicted in the worst way. I want to put my arms around it and whisper sweet nothings in its ear. I want to gently spoon with it and make it believe that I'll always be there. I want to slap my cock up against.....wait....sorry about that. Took a disturbing turn there for a second.

Anyone else devoted to the church of Heroes? If you are....DON'T FUCKING SPOIL ANYTHING FOR ME. I will do terrible things to you, while softly singing the following song:

That was the song "Eyes" as performed by Rogue Wave. It's featured in the first and fourth episodes of the show, and like everything else Heroes related, is fucking awesome. I can't get it out of my head. Hopefully now you won't be able to either. You're welcome. I couldn't find an "official" video of the song, so I settled for the weirdest one on YouTube. Hope you like.

Oh, and I may have to go back on my word about the other 3 posts coming over the next couple of days (two "reviews" and something Slurpee related). My computer decided to be an asshole last night and crapped out right in the middle of writing this. If I can get it going over the weekend, new posts will appear, I promise. As it is, I'm finishing this at work, risking getting my ass fired so that you can read about my love of Heroes. God damn I'm dedicated.

An Easter Story Part II...

Part I can be found here. http://mindlessdiversions.blogspot.com/2008/03/easter-story.html

___________________________________

The soft, yellowish glow from the open refrigerator door illuminated the half chewed carrots pooled around his feet. I choked back a generous amount of bile as I desperately fought the urge to get sick. The confidence I felt only moments ago was quickly fading, replaced once again with feeling of absolute dread. The gun in my hand wavered, and was feeling increasingly heavy.

"Put that thing down before you hurt yourself". Small pieces of the carrot he was chewing flew from his mouth as his raspy voice issued its warning. Complying, I slowly lowered the gun to my side, still unable to speak. He took a step closer and his full seven foot tall frame came into the light. His twisted snout was curled into a cruel grin, his long whiskers quivering. I shrank back instinctively. "What's the matter....don't you recognize your old friend?" He took another slow step towards me. "Why don't you sit down. We have some things to discuss".

.

I watched as he hopped over to the dining room table, receding into the darkness. I gave my head a quick shake, still not fully comprehending what I was seeing, carefully stepped over the pile of half chewed carrots, and followed him into the darkness, gun tucked safely back into my waistband. His large size dwarfed the dining room chair in which he was perched, making it appear comically undersized in comparison. I took a seat across from him and watched as he produced a large, perfectly rolled joint from behind one elongated, furry ear. He lit it, took a long, slow pull and then asked "You mind if I smoke this?"

.

I didn't answer, and he continued to draw on it, never offering it to me. We sat in silence, eyes fixed on each other, as he finished his joint and slowly crushed it out on the shiny, unblemished oak table top. The time for my silence was up. "How did you get in here?"

.

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly in amusement. "Are you joking? I'm the fucking Easter Bunny, you asshole. You know, hiding chocolate eggs in people's houses and all that shit?" He waved his furry paws in my face as if to emphasize this point. "It's what I do. Getting in here was the easiest part of the last few years. Finding your sorry ass....that was considerably more difficult. A fact that has made me one pissed off rabbit, let me tell you. So why don't we skip the part where we reminisce about old times and get to the fucking point?".

.

I responded through clenched teeth. "I told Kringle I was finished. End of story. You may as well just go back and tell him so, because I'm not going back there"

.

His deep, baritone laugh echoed maniacally throughout my empty apartment. "That's some funny shit. If I didn't know better, I would think you were the April Fool instead of some overgrown cherub with a clutch full of arrows..."

.

"Now wait just a goddamn..."

.

"NO, YOU WAIT JUST A GODDAMN MINUTE. JUST BECAUSE YOU REFUSE TO ACCEPT YOUR LOT IN LIFE, DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE IN THE MATTER. What's wrong? You pissed off because you represent a fucking Hallmark holiday? Sick of helping other people find true love, while you go home to an empty house every night? WELL GROW THE FUCK UP! Look at me. I'm a goddamn seven foot tall rabbit that hides chocolate eggs in people's houses while they're asleep. What in the everloving fuck does that have to do with the resurrection? But does it bother me? Fuck no. I do my job, just like you're supposed to do your fucking job. Goddammit, now you've got my fur all ruffled." He produced another perfectly rolled joint, lit it, and inhaled deeply. "I should just eat you right now. Fuck what Kringle says"

.

"Then why don't you just do it already? I don't have any reason to live anyway." I hung my head in defeat.

.

"Well aren't you a sad sack of shit. Where's what's her name? You know, the entire reason you felt the need to throw off your responsibility and go into hiding without a fucking word."

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, moistening the cracked lines forming there. " She left me when she realized I couldn't give her a child"

.

Once again, his deep, baritone laugh filled the apartment. And once again, I clenched my teeth. "That is abso-fucking-lutely hilarious. The great and wonderful cupid can find true love for anyone but himself? That, my friend, is irony."

.

His cold, dark laugh continued to ring out, filling my fragile head to its limit. He was so preoccupied with his own twisted sense of humor, he didn't realize I had the gun trained back on his head. I cocked it, and fired, abruptly halting the laughter issuing from his hideous snout. His head snapped back with the full force that only a gunshot can deliver. I sat and waited, watching the thin thread of smoke trail lazily out of the hot barrel.

.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention, exactly as it had before, except with a quarter sized hole now appearing directly between his eyes. The fur around his eyes was bloody, and matted. I knew the gunshot wouldn't have any effect on him, but I shot anyway.

.

"JESUS FUCK! WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO ACCOMPLISH? Beyond getting blood all over my fur? Do you know what a pain in the ass it is to get blood out of fur? Fucking hell."

.

"I wanted you to stop laughing. You stopped, so I guess I accomplished exactly what I set out to do."

.

"I'm a seven foot tall rabbit, and you're the crazy one. Jesus Christ." He wiped some of the blood out of his eyes, stood to his full height, and towered over me. It didn't seem possible, but his voice deepened by several octaves as he spoke. "Now if you're quite finished, we need to leave now. It's Easter tomorrow, and I've got a busy day ahead of me. So quit fucking around, or I'm going to have to get rough. I can't kill you, but I can sure as hell torture you for awhile before I hand you over to Kringle. So choose. What's it going to be?"

.

I sighed in resignation and lowered my head again. "Just let me get my arrows"

.

"See...its not so hard to accept your lot in life. You don't have to like it, just fucking do it."

.

"I'll be right back". I left him in the half light of the dining room, and returned to my chambers. Far back in the closet, below a hidden trapdoor, were my arrows. I didn't think I would ever have to look at them again, but here we are. Doomed forever to dispense happiness and love, while I suffer alone. That is more torture than Kringle or any of his cronies could ever dish out. I pulled a filterless cigarette out of the, now almost empty pack, and lit it, savoring the harsh, acrid smoke one last time. The clutch of arrows slung over my shoulder, I rose and walked back into the hall. The Easter Bunny was waiting for me.

.

"Ready to go? Kringle let me borrow his sleigh, so we'll be riding in style......"

.

He trailed off as I slowly lifted the still warm gun to my own head.

.

"Now what in the hell are you going to do with that? You can't fucking die you idiot. You're Cupid. Just hurry up and get it over with then. And don't splash any of your fucking blood on my fur".

.

A tight smile crept over my face. "There's something you don't know."

.

"Oh? And what might that be? You have magical holiday killing bullets in there? I know that's bullshit because you already shot me with that hunk of metal, and oh good golly, I'm still fucking here. So tell me another one".

.

"A holiday can't conceive a child with a mortal." He rolled his eyes at me, but I continued. "So I did what I had to do to make her happy. I cut off my wings." His eyes widened with slow realization. "But once I became mortal, we discovered that I was sterile, and wouldn't be able to give her a child anyway. How fucked up is that. A child is the most true expression of love that two people can share, and I, Cupid, am incapable of it. Now tell me why I should go back." I cocked the gun still pointed at my temple.

.

"......you cut off your wings.....you don't realize what you've done. Imagine a world without love. Don't you realize how important you are?"

.

"Fucking replace me then"

.

He lunged for me, but I was faster. The loud crack of the gunshot barely registered in my ear before everything went blissfully black.

.

The End

McTasty or McNasty...

An Easter Story Part II is coming ( I promise ).....but first....

Fate smiled on me this past weekend, and I was lucky enough to enjoy the company of two very cool little people. But I'll have to tell you about my midget debauchery another time. Today is reserved for an experience that starts with my kids and leads into barbecue sauce soaked mouth ejaculations. Doesn't that paint a pretty picture? Now before you label me as some sort of sick, demented weirdo (as if that hasn't happened already), let me explain how my children can have anything to do with a poorly stretched orgasm analogy.

As I was saying: My kids came to visit this weekend and a magical time was had by all. There was much coloring and scissor handling, and numerous games of "Wait until Daddy is done this cigarette...". By the evening of the second night, I was exhausted and in no condition to cook a healthy, nutritious meal. That could only mean one thing.

"Guess what kids! WE'RE GOING TO McDONALDS FOR DINNER! YAYYYYYYYYY!"

That's right. I'm so close to collecting my "Father of the Year" trophy, I can taste it. And it tastes sweet. And kind of coppery.

Jackets were applied in a mad rush to get out the door, and reach our destination. I don't let my kids eat McDonalds too often, and I am kind of an evil prick, so in their heads, I could change my mind at any time. So until their little morsels of "chicken" mcnuggets were halfway down their cute little throats, nothing was guaranteed. Luckily for them, I was feeling generous that day, and so didn't feel the need to torment them with false promises of fast food.

We arrived at Ronald's Pleasure Palace, and walked towards the doors. As we were about to enter though, something caught my eye, and I slowed from a brisk walk to a gentle shuffle. My kids realized what was happening and started to panic. "Daddy's changing his mind" my 7 year old worried out loud. "Yeah, he can be such a douchebag" countered my adorable little 5 year old. I couldn't muster a response. Only a saliva garbled mumble, as I slowly pointed towards the sight that had captivated my attention.

Could it be true? Probably, since they were advertising it as such. The fabled McRib had finally returned home. What a day to be alive.

For those of you not "in the know", let me enlighten you. The McRib enjoyed a fair amount of popularity in that long ago time known by current historians as the "hairmetaloic era", or the 1980s. The patties themselves were each lovingly removed by hand, from the boneless rib cages of the (previously thought extinct) Horned Porkosaur. The patties were then fried up and generously dunked in barbecue sauce tastier than god's vagina (I'm going to hell for that, aren't I). Add some onions and some pickles, and you have a sandwich more addictive than heroin soaked crack. These things were fucking good back in the day. I mean, just look at this:

Don't you just want to grab it with both hands and fuck the shit out of it? Maybe that's just me. Another part of the McRib that made it so tantalizing was the way that the evil geniuses at McDonalds would let us get a taste for it, only to snatch it away from our collective hearts as if to say "That's enough fatty....that's enough". They've been doing this for a long time. Pulling it out of the restaurants, only to usher it back in a few years later for a "limited time only". Evil fucking geniuses. In any case, its been a long time since I've seen it in a Winnipeg McDonalds, and I was very eager to get my McRib on. Probably to be followed closely by the nasty McShits, but that's Future Kris's problem.

I think at this point my kids hit up the Playland, although to be honest with you, I'm not too sure. I kind of forgot about them as soon as the visions of boneless pork patties started dancing in my head. I'm pretty sure I had them with me when I left...Hmmm....

I strode confidently up to the nearest McDonalds employee and smiled a great big, toothy smile.

"WelcometoMcDonaldsMayITakeYourOrder"

"Yes...."

"............What would you like sir?"

"Do you have to even ask? McRib me! Post Haste!"

"Who talks like that, anyway?"

"People, that's who! And why can't I taste BBQ sauce yet?"

As the girl walks away from the counter, I silently wonder how well the BBQ sauce will hide the taste of human spit. Damn it. Before I could wonder too much though, my feast was presented to me, complete with backing orchestra. I swear I'm not making that up. Okay, I'm making that up, but c'mon! What would be more appropriate? I walked past the Playland (probably containing my kids), took my seat, opened the magical box and....

Wow, that looks pretty fucking gross, doesn't it? Even worse...I "posed" the sandwich before taking the picture. I actually cleaned that shit up a bit before documenting it. What's sadder: the fact that this sandwich looks like a porkified abortion, or the fact that I actually took the time and trouble to make it prettier before taking a picture of it in a crowded McDonalds restaurant during the dinner rush? Both pretty fucking sad I suppose...

I know the actual product never looks like the marketing, but they could have at least tried a little. I mean, look at the bun! It just stops before the patty is even fully covered. And it should be literally dipped in BBQ sauce, not just half assed smeared with it. I am unimpressed.

But who gives a shit what it looks like, right? Its the taste that counts, right? Right you are, and on that front...it fails miserably as well. Fucking Yuck. It feels like someone just kicked my taste buds in the balls. This is probably just confined to the restaurant I visited, but lets break it down:

1. Bun is way too small.

2. BBQ sauce is barely there

3. Patty was just a touch above room temperature. Fine dining, your name is not "luke warm mystery meat patty".

The fact that I can't enjoy a McRib the same way I did back in the day is tantamount to the greatest injustice in the history of the world. I am disillusioned and distraught and it's a good thing I didn't have a razor blade with me, I'll tell you that much.

Anyone else currently enjoying the resurgence of the McRib? What are your thoughts? I want to give it another chance, at another McDs, but am too afraid of being heartbroken again. I guess it will have to be enough that I know the McRib is available (for a limited time) if I feel the need to gastronomically torture myself again.

Now if Burger King would bring back those little 3 packs of mini burgers....