If you're anything like me, absolutely everything that you see, smell and feel is a chilling reminder that this Earth is a cold, unfeeling timebomb that will go off at any moment. A breeze is a tribute to the chaos and unfairness of a world that has forgotten you, birds chirp a tune in the key of If God Ever Existed He Is Dead Now, and the bright sun is a glowing beacon of We're-All-Going-to-Die-Alone-in-the-End. No one will mourn you, because no one will be left.
Understanding that, I present to you 5 Meals for Hungry Failures, because we are all both of those things. These are very specific meals for a very specific kind of miserable. You'll notice that they're all hybrid meals, because they're for people who aren't satisfied by standard food law. These are terrible meals invented by awful people who hate you, and they're perfect for anytime it dawns on you that the entirety of human existence is just an insignificant sneeze on the spectrum of time. And I have had every one of them.
Because, hell, we're all going to die, so you might as well just eat like a king.
The KFC Double Down
Where You'd Get It:
KFC, and then again in hell.Why You'd Get It:
We can no longer avoid the fact that our way of life is entirely unsustainable. Population is spiraling out of control and we are eating up resources at a rate faster than we are renewing them, and we have absolutely no planned fix for this. Our relationship to Earth isn't symbiotic. We are parasites, selfishly and thoughtlessly feeding off of this planet until both of us die.
What is it?
We've covered this death threat masquerading as a sandwich before, but it really requires special attention. Basically it's a bacon, cheese and fat sauce sandwich with pieces of fried chicken instead of buns. You can also get it with grilled chicken buns instead of fried chicken buns if you're trying to eat healthier, but you're not, because you hate yourself, and everyone you know will either die before you, leaving you alone, or live long enough after your death to completely forget about you.
I've had the KFC Double Down twice. The first time was during the day and, when I asked for it, the KFC clerk asked "Are you sure?" which I think they're legally obligated to do. Refusing to repeat myself, I simply expressed my seriousness by saying, "and a side of that buttery macaroni and cheeseÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂ¦ for now." I let the "for now" linger itallically in the air as a way of letting her know that, if she questioned me again, I'd order a family style bucket of chicken faces, and then my death would be on her hands.
The second time I ordered the Double Down was at about 11:00 at night on a Wednesday and they didn't bat an eye. It takes a serious eater or a seriously depressed person to actively want a Double Down, and I guess they just expect that sort of customer to only come out at night.
"You want a Double Down? But it's 2:30, there's- there's so much to live for. Don't give up now."
Is it obvious to say "chickeny?" Because it's extremely chickeny, very salty and in no way worth it twice. As an affront to God, it is successful, but as a sandwich, it falls flat. By not making the bread the star of the show, it breaks a pretty fundamental sandwich rule in its lack of consideration for what goes in between the meat buns. I don't care if your buns are made of chicken or beef or gold-plated-arsenic; that's no excuse for skimping on the center of the sandwich. Ignoring the buns, the Double Down is a bacon/cheese sandwich with two pieces of bacon which (check your local Bacon Laws), is illegal. I found myself drowning in a sea of chicken-flavored chicken buns when all I wanted was a life raft of more bacon, cheese and fat sauce.
I'm saying I don't recommend it, but I'm also saying I already ate two of them.
Immediately After Eating It:
While the sandwich is undeniably dense, it's still very small, about a fistful of chicken all told. Even though I was full, my body still wanted more food because my mouth isn't used to not chewing after, like, four minutes of eating. Make sure you order a side dish, and most KFC's come equipped with a lawyer on retainer, so make sure he's there to help you make out your will.
Where You'd Get It: McDonald's.
Why You'd Get It:
The work of Benjamin Libet in the field of Neuroscience supports the idea that free will is just an illusion, and that we have no real agency over our actions. You do not run your own life. Everything is predetermined, and we are bumbling, stumbling meat puppets that eventually die.
What is it?
The story behind the McGangBang is actually pretty cool. It's gotten virtually no attention in the press and has gained popularity over the last few years strictly by word-of-mouth and Internet forums, and it's still relatively underground. Sure, people have whispered about it and its history has been covered in exhaustive detail, but it hasn't quite reached the mainstream yet. It's only a matter of time before someone in a movie or TV show or popular and influential comedy megasite mentions it and then it'll just blow up. Here's how it works: You take an ordinary McDouble off the dollar menu...
...then you take an ordinary McChicken off the dollar menu...
...and you shove the McChicken inside the McDouble. Right in between the patties, just wedge that McChicken in there, so you have one tall super sandwich for just a few bucks. Get an order of fries because we all die in the end anyway.
There are actually a few different schools of thought regarding how many buns of the McChicken should make the transfer. Some say both, some say just one (and within that group, there are two separate camps, those who vote bottom bun and those who vote top). I've had the McGangBang several times using every variation of bun placement (because the futility of human existence weighs on me constantly), and I prefer the single bun (top), though they're all perfectly acceptable. What is not acceptable, however, is a total lack of McChicken buns. You need at least one in there, or you're just an asshole eating a stupid sandwich for jerks.
This is tricky, because a McGangBang isn't officially on any McDonald's menu. Maybe someday it will be, but I think the day we add an item called a "McGangBang" to a list of things we're pretending are food is the day the Earth will physically expel all human life from the planet. While it's not on the menu, you can obviously just get a McChicken and McDouble separately and put them together yourself (like a freakin' servant, but whatever).
Now here's the cool part. Some McDonald's establishments are aware of the McGangBang trend so, if you ask for one, they will serve it to you, fully assembled. Not always, but there are a few cases. There's a problem, of course, because you'll never know for sure if your McDonald's is aware of the trend until you ask. And if they aren't aware, then you're the fat idiot who just said "McGangBang" while anticipatory drool oozed from your mouth.
Get ready for a lot of embarrassment if you want to order it by name, is my point. I found one here in Southern California that will serve up McGangBangs on demand, but I'm not going to tell you which one because, hell, no one told me. I drove around to six different McDonald's asking for McGangBangs and got stunned silences and panicked looks before I found one that knew what I was talking about.
I didn't expect much out of my first McGangBang. Hell, I've had chicken sandwiches and burgers before, this shouldn't be too big a deal. But something happens when you combine them. The tastes and textures just complement each other so well in unexpected ways, it's really like a new and exciting dining experience.
Immediately After Eating It:
You're mad at yourself, your stomach is rejecting the obviously unholy union swirling around within, and your soul dies a little bit. Basically an all around crisis on physical, emotional and spiritual levels. Also, walking around in public afterward is a strange, unsettling adventure. If you lost your virginity in the closet of a crowded party, then the phenomenon will be immediately familiar to you: When you're out among random people, strangers stare at you sideways, maybe they back away when they see you coming and, even though it's impossible, you know that, somehow they know what filthy thing you did. They know.
Pink's Poli Bacon Burrito
Where You'd Get It:
Pink's Hot Dog stand in Hollywood. Pink's is sort of a famous little stand. There's only one, and there is always a line. Like, a long line. Nine in the morning, noon, 2 am, it doesn't matter. You will wait for one and a half hours (minimum), and you'll do it because the food is delicious and no one is relying on you to show up anywhere anyway.
Why You'd Get It:
Because no one is relying on you to show up anywhere anyway. If you're the kind of person who can conceivably dedicate two hours to a hot dog, you've got some pretty substantial life problems that won't be solved by not eating a giant hot dog.
What is it?
Pink's has a ton of different dogs, burgers and specials, but I want to focus on the Poli Bacon Burrito, because if you're going to pay $5.95 for an early death, you might as well do so in style. Greasy, miserable, eternally regretful style.
The PBB is a foot-long Polish sausage, covered in bacon, grilled onions, fucking chili and cheese, all wrapped in a burrito. And it's not that half-assed KFC Double Down approach to bacon; Pink's loads that sucker up with bacon. Any individual ingredient in the PBB could work as a meal just by itself, but the hot dog samurais at Pink's shove it all together, wrap it in a burrito and accept your money as a guarantee that your loved ones won't hold Pink's responsible for your death.
The line is the only real story here. It's long, no matter what time of day you show up, and every second of that wait reminds you that your life is heading down a path you'd never intended. When you get a Double Down, you just order it and it's over in a second, but that's not the case at Pink's. No other item on this list forces you to face the awful decision you've made with as much clarity. Every minute you stand there is a minute where you have to make a conscious choice to see this through.
Worth it! So good, and the only meal on the list I genuinely struggled getting through.
Immediately After Eating It:
Not worth it! My stomach and I are still no longer on speaking terms.
Where You'd Get It: New Brunswick, NJ, if you're a purist. There are a lot of pizza places in New Brunswick that sell these bastards, and there are a few Grease Trucks scattered around the campus of Rutgers University who exclusively sell these things, but the hands-down best place to get them is RU Grill on Easton Avenue. And if that public endorsement is enough to get me a lifetime supply a Fat Sandwiches, I will die both a happy man and almost immediately. Why You'd Get It: What we perceive of as love is actually just a
Ordering There is actually a variety of Fat Sandwiches to choose from, because the universe loves you: Fat Darrel: Chicken fingers with two mozzarella sticks, French fries, lettuce, tomatoes and marinara sauce. Fat Vavavoom: Cheesesteak with two mozzarella sticks , French fries, bacon, marinara, lettuce and tomato.
Eating It: It's a marathon of eating. Every bite is six different things your mouth isn't prepared to handle all at the same time. But you make your mouth handle it, because you feel like punishing yourself for reasons that aren't clear to me. This food is literally heavy in your hand, like you could conceivably get a good work out if you double fist it and go for a three mile run or something. But if you were the kind of person who did stuff like that, you wouldn't be onto your third bite of egg/French fries/chicken/gyro/additional kind of chicken. Immediately After Eating It: The grease and fat-induced food coma is enough to make you feel euphoric for the next few hours. Honestly the best post-meal experience of any item on this list, until you realize you've slept for days and positively
Where You'd Get it: Taco Bell, McDonald's, Wendy's, Pizza Hut and 7-Eleven. Combined. Why You'd Get it: This cynical and damaged post-9/11 world has left you feeling numb everywhere. You just want to feel something again, even if that something is certain death. What is it? Here's the deal, I made it up. I don't know how clear that was from the title. You start with the McDouble from McDonald's, like you're getting a McGangBang, but instead of sticking a McChicken between the patties, you wedge a Taco Bell Crunchwrap Supreme in there. Then you go to Wendy's and pick up some fries (they're better than McDonald's fries). Then, you get a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut. The topping is sort of irrelevant because, when you eat this thing, you'll only be able to taste all of the trips you didn't take, the women you didn't kiss and the experiences you never had. So let's just say "pepperoni." Now run to a 7-Eleven and pick up a corndog. You don't need a plate, the pizza is now your plate. Put a liberal layer of fries on top of the pizza. Next, put the McTragedy in the center of the pizza. It should resemble the big fat food Frisbee that killed God, and if it doesnÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂt, you did something wrong. Jab the corndog stick through the middle, securing it all together.
Bam!Ordering: Kind of a hassle running around to a bunch of different restaurants, but there are more convoluted ways to kill yourself, I guess. Eating It: So far only one person has eaten it, and his name is me. I won't say it's the worst thing I've ever done, but that's because I believe in reincarnation and there's always a chance that, in a past life, I was Hitler. If I dodge the Hitler bullet then, yes, this is very much the worst thing I've ever done. AMAZING EDIT: One of the heroes who reads this site, Estharik, decided to make and eat his own and documented the whole thing. This is the first time a video has been made about the Heart-Molester, and it's wonderful. Highlight? Watch the gentleman's extremely young daughter fearlessly take a bite out of this monstrosity while giggling, proving she's tougher than I was at her age and every age that followed. Immediately After Eating It: You write a column about it to justify what a horrible, horrible thing you've done and pretend it's all in the name of journalism. Also, you sort of feel and smell like you might be sweating poop, somehow.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.