The Strange Tale of Nudeador & the Zinger Double Down King
Oct 24, 2014 23:35:14 GMT -5
Dr Livingstone, 🐍 huss 🐍, and 28 more like this
Post by Nudeviking on Oct 24, 2014 23:35:14 GMT -5
Dear Fellows,
For the past few weeks an advertisement in the gripcar depot near my manorhouse has taunted me: an ad for a certain hamburger-sandwich...a KFC hamburger-sandwich...the Zinger Double Down King! I thought I could ignore this monstrous creation spawned in the very bowels of Hell, but yesterday an article dripping with Sean O'Neal snark appeared in the Audio-Visual Club Tribune in which Mister O'Neal did precisely that which it is he does best: mock all aspects of the subject of the article.
As I read the article I thought to myself, "In all honesty how many readers of the Audio-Visual Club Tribune have the opportunity to do anything more than make japes about this hamburger-sandwich? Perhaps I am the only one who can actually visit the restaurant responsible for this ill-conceived concoction and consume this strange stack of various meat products. If that is in fact the case, do I not have a duty to my fellow man to dine upon this hamburger-sandwich?"
Most regrettably my dear lady wife does not share my sense of duty and is of the mind that such hamburger-sandwiches are a heinous foodstuff that contribute to the overall lack of vigor and stamina amongst those who consume them. Fate, however, smiled upon me when yesterday evening, when my darling lady wife informed me that she had some matters to attend to that would take her far afield for the majority of the week-end, thus restoring my ability to willingly consume a haphazardly stacked pile of meats masquerading as a hamburger-sandwich this week-end.
Something akin to a nervous excitement took hold of me as my lady wife replaced her bloomers and lowered her skirts and I bid her a fond farewell. The moment she had left our manorhouse, I was taken, as if by a mania, and gathered up my photography equipment for I felt that consuming a hamburger-sandwich of this ilk was something that should be documented to its fullest for prosperity. With my cameras and tripods and lenses ready I made my toilet, but found that lunch time was still several hours off.
Eventually noon arrived and I set off to the eatery that served this odd hamburger-sandwich. Prior to departing my manorhouse I adopted the garb of a simple day-laborer for if any of my fellows from the Hellfire Club happened to see me in an establishment that served hamburger-sandwiches, the scandal that would arise is too frightening to imagine. To further conceal myself and remain inconspicuous, I took the gripcar rather than my own carriage. Several minutes later I alighted outside the eatery and entered. Almost immediately I was filled with a sense of shame that surely can only be rivaled by the shame a Papist feels after engaging in the amorous congress. I was in such agony from my shame that I could not even bear to name the hamburger-sandwich when the waitress took my order, instead pointing to a menu and declaring, "I suppose I shall have this to-day."
Several moments later the waitress returned with the hamburger-sandwich and a glass of iced Coca-Cola tonic which she said would aid in the digestion of the sandwich. I paid the woman the princely sum of seventy-three cents and looked at my meal and was filled almost instantaneously with waves of regret. The hamburger-sandwich was an abomination! It was the antithesis of my beloved toast sandwich: a ramshackle stack of meats, dripping with some manner of sauce, commonly found in the southern most reaches of the United States. As I believe the truly monstrous reality of this hamburger-sandwich cannot be conveyed through words alone I have attached several bromide photographs of the hamburger-sandwich below.
I girded my loins and took my first bite of the meat heap that the proprietors of this restaurant were attempting to pass off as a hamburger-sandwich and was once more assailed by waves of shame. What madness had taken me? What did I hope to gain by consuming this greasy pile of meat, none of which could honestly be called a "hamburger" or a "hamburger-sandwich" in any sense of the word. The "hamburger" contained betwixt the two breaded chicken breasts was not a hamburger at all, but rather a breakfast sausage of questionable quality. As to what the white substance covering the breakfast sausage was, I assumed to be some manner of cheese, but could not in good faith declare that it was, without any doubt, cheese.
Several bites into the hamburger-sandwich I could already feel my innards begin to protest. While I myself am not adverse to foodstuffs of somewhat questionable quality, this was nearly too much for me to bear. The greasiness of the hamburger-sandwich cannot truly be understated and the Coca-Cola tonic they provided with the sandwich did little to settle my see-sawing stomach, but I pressed on nonetheless.
I paused at the halfway point to ponder the restaurant's slogan of "No Bun, All Meat." While this was a true statement (the pile of meat I held in my hand was testament its validity), I wondered if the lack of a bread was truly a selling point. The lack of bread caused the meat to slide about with each bite I took, and with no sponge-like bread loaf containing the meats and other condiments, my hands were soon covered in a variety of sauces and that odd white substance, but I pressed on and finished the all meat hamburger-sandwich. My stomach was on the verge of revolt as I stood and left the restaurant.
I decided against taking the gripcar and walked several blocks in an effort to calm my roiling stomach. The weather was crisp and cool, a near perfect autumn day, and yet I found myself sweating most profusely. "Never again!" I shouted to the heavens and continued on my way. I am now back in my manorhouse, stripped to my shirtsleeves with a cup of hot tea. My stomach has settled somewhat, but I do not think I will require a supper this evening. And as I bring this letter to a close, I beg of you ladies and gentlemen, should the opportunity to consume a hamburger-sandwich that lacks any sort of breadroll present itself unto you, resist the temptation! It is not worth the discomfort or acute feelings of shame and loathing you are most certain to experience.
Humbly Yours,
Nudeador Viking the Third
Lord of Minoc
For the past few weeks an advertisement in the gripcar depot near my manorhouse has taunted me: an ad for a certain hamburger-sandwich...a KFC hamburger-sandwich...the Zinger Double Down King! I thought I could ignore this monstrous creation spawned in the very bowels of Hell, but yesterday an article dripping with Sean O'Neal snark appeared in the Audio-Visual Club Tribune in which Mister O'Neal did precisely that which it is he does best: mock all aspects of the subject of the article.
As I read the article I thought to myself, "In all honesty how many readers of the Audio-Visual Club Tribune have the opportunity to do anything more than make japes about this hamburger-sandwich? Perhaps I am the only one who can actually visit the restaurant responsible for this ill-conceived concoction and consume this strange stack of various meat products. If that is in fact the case, do I not have a duty to my fellow man to dine upon this hamburger-sandwich?"
Most regrettably my dear lady wife does not share my sense of duty and is of the mind that such hamburger-sandwiches are a heinous foodstuff that contribute to the overall lack of vigor and stamina amongst those who consume them. Fate, however, smiled upon me when yesterday evening, when my darling lady wife informed me that she had some matters to attend to that would take her far afield for the majority of the week-end, thus restoring my ability to willingly consume a haphazardly stacked pile of meats masquerading as a hamburger-sandwich this week-end.
Something akin to a nervous excitement took hold of me as my lady wife replaced her bloomers and lowered her skirts and I bid her a fond farewell. The moment she had left our manorhouse, I was taken, as if by a mania, and gathered up my photography equipment for I felt that consuming a hamburger-sandwich of this ilk was something that should be documented to its fullest for prosperity. With my cameras and tripods and lenses ready I made my toilet, but found that lunch time was still several hours off.
Eventually noon arrived and I set off to the eatery that served this odd hamburger-sandwich. Prior to departing my manorhouse I adopted the garb of a simple day-laborer for if any of my fellows from the Hellfire Club happened to see me in an establishment that served hamburger-sandwiches, the scandal that would arise is too frightening to imagine. To further conceal myself and remain inconspicuous, I took the gripcar rather than my own carriage. Several minutes later I alighted outside the eatery and entered. Almost immediately I was filled with a sense of shame that surely can only be rivaled by the shame a Papist feels after engaging in the amorous congress. I was in such agony from my shame that I could not even bear to name the hamburger-sandwich when the waitress took my order, instead pointing to a menu and declaring, "I suppose I shall have this to-day."
Several moments later the waitress returned with the hamburger-sandwich and a glass of iced Coca-Cola tonic which she said would aid in the digestion of the sandwich. I paid the woman the princely sum of seventy-three cents and looked at my meal and was filled almost instantaneously with waves of regret. The hamburger-sandwich was an abomination! It was the antithesis of my beloved toast sandwich: a ramshackle stack of meats, dripping with some manner of sauce, commonly found in the southern most reaches of the United States. As I believe the truly monstrous reality of this hamburger-sandwich cannot be conveyed through words alone I have attached several bromide photographs of the hamburger-sandwich below.
I girded my loins and took my first bite of the meat heap that the proprietors of this restaurant were attempting to pass off as a hamburger-sandwich and was once more assailed by waves of shame. What madness had taken me? What did I hope to gain by consuming this greasy pile of meat, none of which could honestly be called a "hamburger" or a "hamburger-sandwich" in any sense of the word. The "hamburger" contained betwixt the two breaded chicken breasts was not a hamburger at all, but rather a breakfast sausage of questionable quality. As to what the white substance covering the breakfast sausage was, I assumed to be some manner of cheese, but could not in good faith declare that it was, without any doubt, cheese.
Several bites into the hamburger-sandwich I could already feel my innards begin to protest. While I myself am not adverse to foodstuffs of somewhat questionable quality, this was nearly too much for me to bear. The greasiness of the hamburger-sandwich cannot truly be understated and the Coca-Cola tonic they provided with the sandwich did little to settle my see-sawing stomach, but I pressed on nonetheless.
I paused at the halfway point to ponder the restaurant's slogan of "No Bun, All Meat." While this was a true statement (the pile of meat I held in my hand was testament its validity), I wondered if the lack of a bread was truly a selling point. The lack of bread caused the meat to slide about with each bite I took, and with no sponge-like bread loaf containing the meats and other condiments, my hands were soon covered in a variety of sauces and that odd white substance, but I pressed on and finished the all meat hamburger-sandwich. My stomach was on the verge of revolt as I stood and left the restaurant.
I decided against taking the gripcar and walked several blocks in an effort to calm my roiling stomach. The weather was crisp and cool, a near perfect autumn day, and yet I found myself sweating most profusely. "Never again!" I shouted to the heavens and continued on my way. I am now back in my manorhouse, stripped to my shirtsleeves with a cup of hot tea. My stomach has settled somewhat, but I do not think I will require a supper this evening. And as I bring this letter to a close, I beg of you ladies and gentlemen, should the opportunity to consume a hamburger-sandwich that lacks any sort of breadroll present itself unto you, resist the temptation! It is not worth the discomfort or acute feelings of shame and loathing you are most certain to experience.
Humbly Yours,
Nudeador Viking the Third
Lord of Minoc
