KFC Bowls
- Thread starter ColdBlooded
- Start date
that shit is disgusting as fuck. if i wanted to eat that crap id get a 3 piece chicken strip meal and slosh my chicken all over my potatoes and corn
fuck soft ass chicken with potato all smothered around it and fucking pieces of corn sitting on top of it like some ribbed condom
i like my shit crisp
shit tastes something like what throwing up a KFC meal tastes like
everything mixed
seriously. make yourself throw up a kfc meal and youll never eat a kfc bowl again
shits disgustin
fuck soft ass chicken with potato all smothered around it and fucking pieces of corn sitting on top of it like some ribbed condom
i like my shit crisp
shit tastes something like what throwing up a KFC meal tastes like
everything mixed
seriously. make yourself throw up a kfc meal and youll never eat a kfc bowl again
shits disgustin
honestly i wanted to drive back in the drive through and throw that shit in the drive through chicks face
like your boy on them commercials.
"you call this a breakfast?"
(creepy stare)
:kicks over breakfast:
a fucking lemon wet nap at chevron tastes better than a KFC bowl..
KFC bowls and that new fucking mcskillet burrito at mcdonalds...disgusting
and the chili burger and chili fries at carls jr are ass
like your boy on them commercials.
"you call this a breakfast?"
(creepy stare)
:kicks over breakfast:
a fucking lemon wet nap at chevron tastes better than a KFC bowl..
KFC bowls and that new fucking mcskillet burrito at mcdonalds...disgusting
and the chili burger and chili fries at carls jr are ass
i wouldnt even have bought that shit had i not smoked two blunts before driving to get food. always go to get food high and fuck up my shit. somehow.
i hate hella kfc shit tho like them bbq sandwhiches....i think they literally dip the chicken in a pool of bbq then slap it on the bread and the bread turns dark red
i hate hella kfc shit tho like them bbq sandwhiches....i think they literally dip the chicken in a pool of bbq then slap it on the bread and the bread turns dark red
thats exactly what they do gas...i knew a whore that use to work at kfc....those bbq ones and the spicy ones are the bomb......you can just orderd chicken strips with em dipped in that bbq sauce for like 20 cents extra or somethin......
i dont have a popeyes in my city...kfc is the only fast food chicken
i dont have a popeyes in my city...kfc is the only fast food chicken
. . . The Famous Bowl hit my mouth like warm soda, slouched down my throat, and splayed itself across my stomach like a sun-stroked wino. It was that precise combination of things, and so many other sensations that did not go together. At all.
The gravy, which I remembered as being tangy and delicious in my youth, tasted like the idea of blandness, but burned and then salted to cover the horrid taste. The mashed potatoes defiantly stood their ground against the gravy, as if they'd read The Artist's Way and said, "I'm going to be boring and forgetful in my own potato-y way!" The corn tasted like it had been dunked in fake-corn-flavored ointment, and the popcorn chicken, breaded to the point of parody, was like chewing a cotton sleeve that someone had used to wipe chicken grease off their chin.
The cheese had congealed. Even in the heat and steam of the covered Famous Bowl, it had congealed. I stabbed it with the tines of my spork and it all came up in one piece. I nibbled an edge, had a vision of a crying Dutch farmer, and put it down.
. . .
My mouth was laced with the various "flavors" of the Famous Bowl. My stomach was bloated and uncomfortable with the fist of starch I'd just put in it. But I didn't feel like I'd eaten. It's like when you see some loud summer blockbuster, or hear an overproduced pop song—you're left with the sensation of seeing, hearing, or in the case of the Famous Bowl, eating. But in the end, that's all they are—sensations.
There was nothing of consequence or value for me to digest, no taste or memory left on my teeth or tongue to savor and think about.
It's goddamn horrible, this Famous Bowl.
The gravy, which I remembered as being tangy and delicious in my youth, tasted like the idea of blandness, but burned and then salted to cover the horrid taste. The mashed potatoes defiantly stood their ground against the gravy, as if they'd read The Artist's Way and said, "I'm going to be boring and forgetful in my own potato-y way!" The corn tasted like it had been dunked in fake-corn-flavored ointment, and the popcorn chicken, breaded to the point of parody, was like chewing a cotton sleeve that someone had used to wipe chicken grease off their chin.
The cheese had congealed. Even in the heat and steam of the covered Famous Bowl, it had congealed. I stabbed it with the tines of my spork and it all came up in one piece. I nibbled an edge, had a vision of a crying Dutch farmer, and put it down.
. . .
My mouth was laced with the various "flavors" of the Famous Bowl. My stomach was bloated and uncomfortable with the fist of starch I'd just put in it. But I didn't feel like I'd eaten. It's like when you see some loud summer blockbuster, or hear an overproduced pop song—you're left with the sensation of seeing, hearing, or in the case of the Famous Bowl, eating. But in the end, that's all they are—sensations.
There was nothing of consequence or value for me to digest, no taste or memory left on my teeth or tongue to savor and think about.
It's goddamn horrible, this Famous Bowl.
