Glorious excess

So I beg to finally get a day off during the week to get all those pesky little things done that suddenly crop up when you can't get a weekday off. One of the items on my to do list is to put my car in the shop for an oil change and some minor warranty covered repairs.

Here's my baby girl:

450 throaty rumbling horses (with the cold air kit -- highly recommended, btw), full time 8 cylinders, when I want to pull out into traffic, it's just stomp & go baby! Awww yeah!

But anyway, they have to do some other scheduled maintenance stuff, so I get a ride home to wait it out. Of course, there's nothing to eat at home -- hey, single guy here . . . I don't shop until it's an emergency. I decide to walk over to KFC since it's close to my house.

Now I haven't eaten at the Colonel's in about 10 years, so I'm a little fuzzy on the menu. I'm looking and I see this thing they call The Double Down. I vaguely remember some nanny whining when this came out, but didn't pay a lot of attention. I order the meal and take it home.

ZOMG! I think I've found my new favorite sandwich! Two breaded chicken patties with bacon and a slice of monterey jack and a slice of pepper jack cheese along with a special sauce between. No bread, just a meat & cheese sandwich. Holy crap, I loved it.

540 calories with 32 grams of fat and 1380 mg of sodium . . . my arteries are hardening just typing this. But they're my arteries, and if I want to clog 'em up, that's my choice!

And that's how it should be in this country -- if I want to drive a gas guzzler or eat a yummy but less than totally healthy lunch, I should be able to. The President and his wife, who have a carbon footprint the size of Godzilla on steroids, would take these choices away from you, for your own good, they say. While they eat bbq and pizza and dump metric tons of pollution in the air to take in a movie in New York, they want us to live like paupers -- riding in overcrowded public transport and eating lettuce and bean sprout sandwiches.

Not me brother. They're getting my big V8 and meat sandwich when they get my legally owned firearms . . . you know the rest.