I believe it was the new TenderCrisp sandwich, gentle reader, that turned me on to Burger King after a long, healthy hiatus. The sensation of an “A-patty”–what my co-worker calls those delicious first-run cutlets–hitting your lips is a truly divine experience, an ineffable combination of titillating taste and guilty pleasure. Contrast this to the “D-patties” we had a week after, diabolically nasty pieces of meat that probably fell off the back of Colonel Sanders’ truck.
Today I decided to give The King another chance. I should’ve chosen the Spicy TenderCrisp sandwich, which according to some dining companions was inexplicably A-patty caliber, but instead I popped for one of their Angus burgers. Don’t even bother clicking on the link, as there aren’t any pictures. This stuff is so cutting edge that the BK website doesn’t even feature it.
And for good reason, too. You don’t want an Angus burger from Burger King, I’m telling you. I’ve had Angus before and this wasn’t Angus. You know White Castle? This is the shit you find in the moat. I’ve been feeling woozy ever since, and it was a damned miracle I didn’t hurl all over my classmates mid-roll during ju-jutsu. Hail to the king indeed.
As far as effective wordplay goes, it looks like PETA members screwed the pooch. Does it appear clever at first glance? Sure, I guess, though I’m not entirely certain what “championship organization” means. Will fans actually sit down and decode the hidden message? Probably not. You no doubt have ideas on how they could’ve protested better, gentle reader, and I’ve a few ideas myself. For instance, perhaps they should have lobbied for a vegetarian soy sausage masc–oh, wait.
Once upon a time, in an undergraduate career far more exciting than mine, one of my co-workers wandered into an alleyway to score some dope. The pusher ducked into his apartment and soon returned with a bag full of product. Funny thing was, gentle reader, that the product resembled the herbs I enjoy sprinkling on my pizza from time to time.
My co-worker sniffed the wares and promptly refused to pay for the bag of oregano, at which point the pusher subtly implied he had a gun. The story ended safely enough when my co-worker backed into a well-trafficked area, thus saving himself from a gunshot wound or lungs filled with savory seasoning.
If nothing else, this story reveals the gritty, unwashed underbelly of culinary narcotics. I mean, who hasn’t thought about smoking oregano at some point in their lives, but to sell it? Sheer genius. Look at McDonald’s, if you would, and revel in their brilliant naming campaign. The most obvious name for hash browns would be “McHash,” so why did they name the stuff otherwise? I think you know why. Naming the product for what it is would send buyers into a feeding frenzy, encouraging them to drop all pretense and smoke those suckers right then and there.
And did you know that “nugget” is another term for grass? Even if you didn’t, I’m sure you’ve heard of the six-piece or eight-piece nugget meal at your local fast food joint. Coincidence? Perhaps, but you probably also think that “sauce” only comes in the barbecue variety. So the next time you consider ordering that shroom burger with some afterdinner candy, I urge you to consider what the Hamdealer told Grimace one fine morning: rehable rehable rehable.