It’s my firm belief that the burger is an essential part of any diet. Some “nutritionists” might disagree with me, but I’ve been eating food all my life, so I’m somewhat of an expert here. Now, if you want my expert advice, it’s this: the burger contains nutrition from all two sections of the Natheist Manpyramid of Foodstuffs, and that’s good enough for me.
There’s one thing you need to know before you go to a burger restaurant: never get salad. I have a general rule to help you remember: if it’s green, make a scene. Don’t let anyone put anything organic anywhere near your meat sandwich. No man wants salad on his burger. Salad on a burger is just foreplay, and as there are no females involved in this transaction, there’s no need to complicate things.
McDonalds: finally a corporation that understands my needs.
Many burger joints fail to meet the needs of the common man. But not McDonalds. McDonalds knows that when I order a cheeseburger, I don’t want a fruit salad in a bun – I want a cheeseburger. McDonalds cuts the crap and gets straight to the point: a bun, meat and a slice of cheese. That’s what a cheeseburger is. Did I order a cucumber sandwich? No, and McDonalds didn’t give me one.
I should also mention that the McDonalds Triple Cheeseburger is a religious experience – the triune God of hamburgers. Eating a Triple Cheeseburger is like having sex with a unicorn. If Jesus were a processed meat sandwich, he would be three patties of oil-soaked beef, coated in McDonalds’ orgasmic plastic cheese. Sure, it may contain 9,000% of my daily intake of saturated fat, but the delicious taste surely outweighs the heart disease.
Verdict: McDonalds is well-priced and pleasing on the tastebuds. My only complaint is that their burgers are the size of the coins I use to pay for them. Otherwise, excellent. Five stars.
Oporto: Portuguese for “liquid pain”.
Think of a burger as a porno movie. This isn’t such a ridiculous analogy if you put your mind to it, because in both cases, someone is going to be getting meat in their mouth. Now, imagine that chilli-sauce is penis. Sure, a bit of chilli is alright, perhaps even preferable, but when you go too far and cover the entire burger in spicy devil-cream, you’ve ruined it.
This is exactly how I felt after I went to Oporto and got their Bondi chilli burger. I wanted a bit of chilli for flavour, but instead I got a three-day festival of pain. See, if that was my desired effect, I would have gone about my afternoon very differently. Instead of going to Oporto, I would have walked into a low level socio-economic neighbourhood and looked for a group of 16-25 year olds wearing stupid hats. I wouldn’t even have to stand in line – just make eye contact, wait until their inferiority complexes kick in and sit back while they do the job for me. And the best part? They wouldn’t charge me $8.95 for it. Though admittedly, getting beaten up doesn’t come with Coke and fries.
Verdict: An overpriced franchise with lousy fries and chilli sauce hotter than the fires of hell. Two and a half stars.
KFC: false advertising, coated liberally with mayonnaise, disappointment and mayonnaise.
Despite advertising to the contrary, KFC burgers are the same size as their McDonalds counterparts, except they have a six-inch layer of mayonnaise on them, and four cups of lettuce. Their non-burger option is equally shitty, and has some misleading name like the MaxiFeast SuperRoll, which is pretty much a Subway chicken sub, except infinitely worse. Don’t worry, it tastes exactly the same and has all the mayonnaise of KFC’s regular bukkake burger, except it’s shaped like a cock for added realism – as if wasting $6 on a shitty burger wasn’t violation enough.
Verdict: Colonel Sanders, whose face appears on all KFC chains, was unsuccessfully sued by KFC for calling their gravy “sludge with a wallpaper taste.” I would go so far as to say that this describes most of the items on their menu. For the love of God, do not go to KFC if you can avoid it. One and a half stars.
Ribs & Rumps: the name essentially means “tits and ass” but don’t get excited, it’s horseshit.
When trying to describe this restaurant, the only words that come to mind are “beef Holocaust” and “worse than Nazism”. A tasteless burger here will set you back $17.95, unless you want cheese on it, in which case it’s $18.95. Are you kidding me? A one dollar slice of cheese? What, is it milked from the tit of the Queen of England?
The sad thing is that Ribs & Rumps used to make amazing burgers, thanks to their tasty Special Sauce. Sure, this burger still had a sauce, but I noticed they changed some of the ingredients. And the definition of “special”.
The sauce was everywhere. Orange goo was pouring out of my burger. I wanted to know what it was, so I stuck my finger in the pool that had collected on my plate and tasted it. And then I thought maybe I’d missed my mouth with my fingers and accidentally smeared it on my chin instead, because I just couldn’t taste anything. So I tried again. And again. And then I realised – it tasted like nothing. It was nothing-flavoured sauce. It was void of flavour. Can’t believe it? Neither could I.
Verdict: $19 for a horrible burger. For that kind of money I could have gone to McDonalds and bought a Triple Orgasmburger, then saved the remaining $14 towards getting a hooker. Zero stars.
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