I've got a gut feeling about this...

Monday, October Eighteenth, Two Thousand-Ten.



A day which won't, but SHOULD remain infamous in Canadian history. In short, it is the day "The Double Down" sandwich was allowed to be sold here in Canada. The sandwich which broke all the rules. Essentially it is two pieces of battered, 11 secret herbs and spiced, deep fried chicken breasts sandwiched on either side of a mound of pepperjack and monterey jack cheese, bacon and slathered in mayo based "Colonel Sauce". This is exactly what every dietician and nutritionist out there has nightmares about, and I am determined to live through this Mary Shelly inspired concoction to share with you the experience.



It took a lot of psyching myself up as I approached the doors of the KFC on Queen Street on the way home from work. As I entered I could see I was not the only one whom decided to ignore all their personal trainers calls today and opt for a decision best left to casino tables. The establishment was a buzz with regretful anticipation as we stepped through the queue like lemmings marching off a cliff.

"I'm here just for this sandwich." an off duty office pencil pusher bragged while trying to wipe the chagrin of his co-workers face. He too had purchased one being convinced by his co-worker... murder suicides are common place in high stress office jobs I thought to myself.



10 minutes. Ten minutes was what I was quoted before I would be able to receive my sandwich. As I waited I felt like a prisoner on death row. Not before his last meal, but afterward. Staring the needle which will administer the lethal injection into his arteries. Except this will be a lot slower.



Finally I received my contraband and proceeded on my way home. I felt more nervous carrying this brown paper bag under my arm on this short walk home than I would carrying drugs on me. And I was carrying drugs at the time. As I walked my sandwich home I thought about all the ills in human society, about all the wrongs we have committed against each other, and the pain and suffering we have brought upon ourselves. It seems that as humans we cannot escape being self destructive. Bombs, guns, drugs, etcetera. Our food however was supposed to remain sacred. It wasn't ever supposed to go this far. My god! What have we become?



I shed a tear for our society as I entered my building and proceeded to my kitchen counter. With bar stools as seating I decided to throw out my change in front of where I should dine to give it a more casino-y feel. This was of course a different type of gambling all together, but apropo none the less. The sandwich itself is exactly what you expect it to be. It just tastes like two pieces of deep fried chicken, cheese and bacon. No flavour explosion, no incredible taste sensation, just chicken... and grease.



I tossed aside the wrapping as soon as I was done with it. I couldn't bear to look at it anymore. I could hardly look at myself in the mirror. There was a point afterward where I had a moment of instant regret. Much like being at your first rave and buying ecstasy off of some much older creepy looking guy (because you don't know any better) then realizing "What have I done?". A million thoughts rush through your head;

"Should I have done that?"

"I should make myself puke."

"I hope I don't die from this."

"My dad would kill me if he found out."



But slowly all that subsides. Possibly because your blood is flowing significantly slower and clouding your judgment. MY left side begins to lose all feeling, my breathing has become heavy, there is a sharp pain in my chest, and my vision is tunneling. Effects of an unhealthy sandwich? Or am I just falling in love? I'll have to go with my gut on this one and say this is sandwich based. Off to the gym.



See you in the funnies.

~r.r.



*note* If I wake up dead please read this at my funeral.