| Tuesday, January 11, 2005 |
 | Holy Joe Christ. I recall somebody on 's LJ asking whether it was indeed the case that portions in American restaurants were larger than those in Europe. I offer in mute testimony the 2/3-pounder. Yes, two thirds of a pound of ground beef between bread. That's a little under three quarter-pounders. With cheese and bacon, obviously. This would in itself be a bit disturbing (why not just polyfilla your colon and have done?), were it not for the further detail that it is being advertised (largely to young men, who have the kidney and later the kidney failure for this sort of delight) with images of women pushing deformingly large masses into their mouths. Nice.
Although I would still be scared and grossed out, I wouldn't mind so much if that were the most damage the US hamburger industry had done to my mind. It is not. That must be reserved for this fresh breakfast hell.
Now, waking up unexpectedly alongside somebody wearing an ornate and anachronistic costume is not in itself a terrifying idea. I've been to public school. For that matter, waking up alongside same, but equipped further with a gigantic plastic head, unable to change expression is not so bad. I've never been to Whitby, but I know people who have. It's the way the voiceover artist says "meat and cheese... and meat and cheese", as if he had personally ensured, using his own body in a manner not dissimilar to Jesus, that every single bun was suitably meaty and cheese, and was now sore and exhausted but bursting with pride. It's not a sound you can forget. Ever.
Meat and cheese... and meat and cheese.
I'd become a vegan, but I don't think it would help.
Meat and cheese... and meat and cheese.
1 Comments:
Don't forget the eggs with that meat n' cheese...
Es.
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