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KFC to Activists: Mmm... Fried Chicken! November 10, 2003 |
Louisville, KY Junior Bacon PETA activist Charlene Dunlop answers questions about the KFC boycott, backed by her daughter’s highly-disturbing refrigerator drawing
“Mmm… fried chicken!”
The statement, made in a low baritone and accompanied by a belly-rubbing gesture, has incensed PETA activists who have spent years working to change the chain’s practices. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals representatives have accused KFC of buying from suppliers who practice inhumane methods of raising and slaughtering chickens, including using drugs to breed chickens to grotesque proportions which cripple the b...
fter coming under increased scrutiny in recent months for the inhumane treatment of the 736 million chickens they cannonball into American gullets every year, the fast food chain KFC made a sweeping public statement this week to address the concerns of consumers, animal rights activists, and the chickens themselves: “Mmm… fried chicken!” The statement, made in a low baritone and accompanied by a belly-rubbing gesture, has incensed PETA activists who have spent years working to change the chain’s practices. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals representatives have accused KFC of buying from suppliers who practice inhumane methods of raising and slaughtering chickens, including using drugs to breed chickens to grotesque proportions which cripple the bird, housing chickens in cages too small for the birds to stand up, resulting in the chickens actually growing around the cage wire, and combating the resulting panicked violent chicken behavior by cutting off the birds’ beaks. PETA also contends that these suppliers finish the screwjob by scalding the birds to death in feather removal tanks, just in case they didn’t get the message that life is a brutal and heartless experience. Still, this latest statement represents a landmark for KFC, whose previous responses to activists had been even more insulting. “KFC uses only the highest quality ingredients,” answered KFC’s US spokeswoman Bonnie Warschauer in 1996, rubbing her tummy when asked if it might not be unreasonable for KFC to raise the prices of its meals by a penny to pay for humane improvements, which might keep the general public from having to hear really gross chicken stories from liberal arts majors all the time. In recent months, all-white-meat actress Pamela Anderson and noted extra-tasty-crispy comedian Russell Simmons have joined PETA in speaking out against the fast-food chain, a move that the group’s officials bemoan but have been powerless to block. “If people knew how KFC treats chickens, they’d never eat another drumstick,” stated Anderson, no stranger to questionable breast-meat. Drumstick-eaters interviewed the street disagreed with Anderson, arguing that they were pretty sure KFC kills the shit out of their chickens before frying their corpses is scalding oil, but still wanted to know if she was hot in person. KFC has also come under fire in recent weeks from health groups, who have taken offense at the chain’s commercials promoting KFC as a healthier alternative to other fast foods. The ads in question feature the animated “Colonel” character announcing, “Burgers give you ass cancer!” then rubbing his tummy and intoning sensually “Mmm… fried chicken!” KFC, a unit of Louisville-based Yum Brands Inc., has been struggling with slumping sales in recent years, and has sought to address both its fiscal and public relations woes with the introduction of the new “extra-tasty-crazy” fried chicken variety, based on the popular assumption that chickens driven mad by slaughterhouse conditions might likely have an especially zesty flavor. The fast food chain was previously known as Kentucky Fried Chicken, but changed its name in 1991 to distance its products from the negative connotations of fried foods, chickens, and the state of Kentucky. This latest obscene hand-gesture directed at animal rights groups by KFC is likely bad news for consumers, as PETA activists are already discussing the possibility of handing out buckets of mutilated chickens in front of KFC restaurants, unless they can think of something more disgustingly gut-wrenching on the way to the protest. the commune news didn’t see what all the animal-rights fuss was about until our dog Zipper was made into an order of “Collie-Poppers” during a family vacation to the Orient in 1982. Ramon Nootles is the commune’s least-sensitive reporter and won this assignment after being caught eating a piece of ham that had fallen behind the breakroom refrigerator on an undetermined date.
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 February 2, 2004
DownsizzlingI guess I'm not top dog here at the commune anymore. They got a new dog. Which sucks for me 'cause those chicken livers were about the only source of protein I get in a week. Dry, chewy, but good.
That's sort of the explanation for why I haven't been writing as much lately as I used to. That and I got fired from my regular toilet brush job. That big gay Bagel Gay Bagel told everyone to cut some of the deadweight around here and everyone thought of me first. Which is nice in a way. But that way doesn't help me any, since I'm out of a job. It worked out nicely for them because Gay got a real plastic toilet brush as a gift for Christmas from people who didn't like him, so the office has one of their own. Two people doing the same job, one doesn't ask for any pay and doesn't short out the office electricity trying to build his own lightsaber, so you do the math on who gets fired. Me, I mean.
Not like it's the first job I've been fired from. That was helping my dad fix the car. I wasn't working for real pay there either, even though I tried to hold out for a hug or something, but you could never hardball dad. I would stand by him while he put the lugnuts in my hand, at least that's what he said they were. Then he heaped on more work, making me look for a 9/16th wrench out of the toolbox and then yelling at me when I told him he didn't own a toolbox. He said it was a trick question, just to see if I could think independently. And I could, and he didn't...
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I guess I'm not top dog here at the commune anymore. They got a new dog. Which sucks for me 'cause those chicken livers were about the only source of protein I get in a week. Dry, chewy, but good.
That's sort of the explanation for why I haven't been writing as much lately as I used to. That and I got fired from my regular toilet brush job. That big gay Bagel Gay Bagel told everyone to cut some of the deadweight around here and everyone thought of me first. Which is nice in a way. But that way doesn't help me any, since I'm out of a job. It worked out nicely for them because Gay got a real plastic toilet brush as a gift for Christmas from people who didn't like him, so the office has one of their own. Two people doing the same job, one doesn't ask for any pay and doesn't short out the office electricity trying to build his own lightsaber, so you do the math on who gets fired. Me, I mean.
Not like it's the first job I've been fired from. That was helping my dad fix the car. I wasn't working for real pay there either, even though I tried to hold out for a hug or something, but you could never hardball dad. I would stand by him while he put the lugnuts in my hand, at least that's what he said they were. Then he heaped on more work, making me look for a 9/16th wrench out of the toolbox and then yelling at me when I told him he didn't own a toolbox. He said it was a trick question, just to see if I could think independently. And I could, and he didn't need that in his employees. Then he was attacked by a lemur and I never found out if he got that car fixed or not.
It doesn't bother me to get fired from a job if I screwed it up somehow. It doesn't even bother me to get fired from a job I was doing really good. I imagine—hard to prove that one, I guess. What really steams my beans is getting fired from a job I didn't even have. I slept in a McDonald's for three weeks one time and they finally found me when they cleaned out the grease trap, and I got yelled at real bad and they fired me and I didn't even work there. I would have told the guy so, but you know. The grease in my mouth and all.
But besides all of that, I suppose I'll still talk to you all once in a while. I got woke up one day by a call at the Long John Silver's grease trap and it was Red Bagel, asking me where my column was, it was a month overdue. I told him I didn't work for him anymore and he called me a slacker. If I knew what one was I would have argued with him, but he gets away with insulting people by thinking up big words for insults. So he said it was no excuse for not doing my column. Sampson L. Hartwig has to write one still and he's been dead for more than a year, is the story. Well, no one's going to compare me in a bad way with a dead person. So I'll get that column done and turned into Red Bagel, Mr. Smart Insult Ass, as soon as I can think of something to write. If you come up with anything, let me know here at the commune. º Last Column: Old Lame Signº more columns
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|  November 24, 2003
You Got Ice in My Greenland! You Got Green in My Iceland!Anyone who's ever showed up naked on the shores of Greenland expecting a lush tropical paradise, only to have his dong bit off by a penguin, is liable to be curious as to how the island got its misleading name. Likewise for any cold-loving Eskimo freak living in Iceland and wondering why his balls are sweating all the time and why everybody makes fun of his bulbous whale-fur parka while they're all kicking it in Hawaiian shirts and jams. The mystery of why Iceland is green and Greenland is icier than Catherine Zeta-Jones' chest cavity is something that has vexed tourists, indiscriminate immigrants and the uninformed for centuries.
The reasons behind this cartographical bait-and-switch date back to ancient times. In 330 B.C., the ancient explorer Pytheas sailed north from France to try and find some place to dump a dead horse that nobody wanted to take off his hands. Back in those days you couldn't just dump a dead horse by the side of the freeway like you can now, there were laws and steep horse-carcass-disposal fees. Pytheas's horse died of shock after walking on the explorer having sex with his wife's hat rack, and so even beyond the expense of paying somebody to dump the corpse off a high cliff, Pytheas was not looking forward to explaining to someone why the horse died with such a surprised look on his face.
So the explorer set out in his ship, with the horse's body in tow, beginning to smell even more ripe than a horse does when alive. Six days...
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Anyone who's ever showed up naked on the shores of Greenland expecting a lush tropical paradise, only to have his dong bit off by a penguin, is liable to be curious as to how the island got its misleading name. Likewise for any cold-loving Eskimo freak living in Iceland and wondering why his balls are sweating all the time and why everybody makes fun of his bulbous whale-fur parka while they're all kicking it in Hawaiian shirts and jams. The mystery of why Iceland is green and Greenland is icier than Catherine Zeta-Jones' chest cavity is something that has vexed tourists, indiscriminate immigrants and the uninformed for centuries.
The reasons behind this cartographical bait-and-switch date back to ancient times. In 330 B.C., the ancient explorer Pytheas sailed north from France to try and find some place to dump a dead horse that nobody wanted to take off his hands. Back in those days you couldn't just dump a dead horse by the side of the freeway like you can now, there were laws and steep horse-carcass-disposal fees. Pytheas's horse died of shock after walking on the explorer having sex with his wife's hat rack, and so even beyond the expense of paying somebody to dump the corpse off a high cliff, Pytheas was not looking forward to explaining to someone why the horse died with such a surprised look on his face.
So the explorer set out in his ship, with the horse's body in tow, beginning to smell even more ripe than a horse does when alive. Six days north of Britain, and a day south of the edge of the world where you could peek around to the other side and see the word search puzzle and maze game on the back, Pytheas found a beautiful uncharted island. After taking a quick look around to make sure he didn't see anybody he knew, Pytheas dumped the horse and planted his own personal "Found it!" flag, as a warning to any other explorers inclined to claim the island for their own, and their horses.
Iceland was populated mainly by embarrassing corpses and explorers' flags until the 9th century, when it was settled by Norwegians who brought with them a number of Celts in their luggage. Around this time the island came to be known as Tholböp, an Icelandic word meaning "Land of Easy Women." But the natives there eventually changed the name to "Iceland," so Vikings in the area would look at their maps and say "Fuck that, sounds cold!" and instead carry on their raping and pillaging in Greenland, where they would freeze to death because Greenland is nothing but a big hunk of ice floating out in the ocean. Nobody said the Icelanders didn't have a good sense of humor. This has been evidenced in the high percentage of Icelandic men named Snorri and in the nation's major exports: pet rocks and really hot women who look like Björk.
The half-dozen natives of Greenland didn't appreciate having their island's name changed without being consulted first, but the resulting bumper crop of dead Vikings washing up on their shores soon assuaged all of their concerns. This development served to found Greenland's economy, which was soon booming with the import of dead frozen Vikings and the export of Greenlanders who thought it might be nicer to live somewhere else. Those who remained lived the good life, as much as any life lived in constant oppressive cold on top of a giant hunk of ice can be called good, and they were content to sing songs about snow while huddled inside their igloos made of piles of dead frozen Vikings.
Greenland was originally known as Igapaquk, an Inuit word meaning "Eeh, it's okay." The first colony on the island was founded in 500 B.C. by a lost band of Inuit sailors from Canada who were very pessimistic about their chances of finding something better if they sailed on further. Legend has it that these early inexperienced pilgrims only stayed on Greenland because of a linguistic snafu which caused them to confuse the two meanings of the word "settle," one being to build a colony in a new land and the other to accept something shitty even though you could probably do better.
So now that the globe's great lie has been exposed we can move on to more pressing questions, such as what do they call really nice dishes in China? Stay tuned. º Last Column: Why is English So Retarded?º more columns
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Quote of the Day“Speak when you are angry and you'll make the best speech you will ever regret. Speak when you are extremely angry and you'll really regret it—all stuttering and shit, like Porky Pig. And they'll just make fun of you. I know I would.”
-Ambruce FierceFortune 500 CookieStick it where the sun don't shine—that's the only way you'll be sure it glows in the dark. Does this look like medium rare to you? Take it back or there goes your tip. If you could ask God one question, don't make it, "Who farted?" Take a self-time out this week, but don't just waste it by yourself; extract the time itself from the timeline, so you can put it back wherever you want. Lucky legends this week: Sasquatch, the Jersey Devil, Abominable Snowman, and other Bigfoot rip-offs.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Boris is Gay | | 2. | Ms. Cleo's Special Sauce Recipe | | 3. | Big, German Jugs | | 4. | The Dangers of Breastfeeding Wildlife | | 5. | Apple: Computers for Commies? | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 12/10/2001 What it is, America? Entertainment Police is back and on the attack with another two-weeks' worth of tips and whatnot as to the goings-on in the Entertainment world. And what a crazy world it is these days, what with the economy on recess and everyone getting Amway in the mail and all. Look, I know you came here for the reviews, to find out what to do with that Jefferson that's been burning a hole in your pocket, so I won't delay any further. On to the movies!
In Theaters Now:
Not Another Ween Movie
Ha! Those musically irreverent Ween brothers are back in their fifth film, regardless of what the title might lead you to believe. This time they're taking on the smash hit Titanic with this...
What it is, America? Entertainment Police is back and on the attack with another two-weeks' worth of tips and whatnot as to the goings-on in the Entertainment world. And what a crazy world it is these days, what with the economy on recess and everyone getting Amway in the mail and all. Look, I know you came here for the reviews, to find out what to do with that Jefferson that's been burning a hole in your pocket, so I won't delay any further. On to the movies!
In Theaters Now:
Not Another Ween Movie
Ha! Those musically irreverent Ween brothers are back in their fifth film, regardless of what the title might lead you to believe. This time they're taking on the smash hit Titanic with this lampooning (or is it serious? or are they crazy?) musical full of memorable song-and-dance numbers like "My Heart Will Go On Sale", "Hey Iceburg (Shithead)", "Go Pull a Nickel Out Your Ass, Steve" and "Somebody Please Fish My Icy Nuts Out of the Atlantic".
Ocean's 11
The sad tale of the last remaining Phoenix brother, who was incinerated this past July in a Bar-be-cue gone bad on his eleventh birthday. Like his brother River and his sister Delta before him, he lived too fast, too young, and left a good-looking pre-pubescent corpse. This tribute is a fine send-off as he sulks his way up to the big detox in the sky.
The Royal Tennis Bums
Every king and queen's worst nightmare is to have their progeny grow up to be nothing but long-haired polycarbonalium racquet-wielding tennis bums, cruising the courts looking for the cheap thrill of a pick-up match and taking pictures with their scofflaw Rebel SLR cameras. But just that is the lot for the rulers of the conveniently-created kingdom of Bumcock, who send their kids to a strict uppity tennis camp for the summer, thinking the regimentation will sap their love of the game. Instead, the royal shits beat the tennis slobs at the camp across the lake and learn something valuable about themselves in the process: they're rich.
Vanilla Sky
Only a lumpy-skulled nut-tugger like Vanilla Ice would have the grotesquely swollen balls to write himself into the history of the space program in this supposedly autobiographical picture about his childhood dream of launching a rocket and his later top-level work for NASA. Not to mention that the theme song is just Elton John's "Rocket Man" with a tambourine line added. Almost as disgusting as his last two films: "A Dream With Wings: The Orville and Vanilla Wright Story" and "Yo, I Wrote the Star-Spangled Banner".
Now on Video:
Karen Carpenter's Ghosts of Mars
If you thought last season of Allie McBeal was scary, wait until you witness this harrowing tale of anorexia, bulimia and gas-station candy bar sales. Beat to the punch by "The Karen Carpenter Story" a few years back, but I hear this one has vampires and shit, so it's probably a better popcorn anorexia movie.
Maid
That meaty dude you loved so much for Swingers and Deep Throat, Jon Favorite, is back in this hilarious lark about a hapless palooka who has to go to New York and dress up as a sexy French maid to win the girl of his dreams. It turns out that impersonating the maid at his belle-to-be's mansion is harder than it looks, and many explosively comedic situations result. Probably my favorite scene is the New Year's Eve party where no less than a half-dozen male guests try to take Jon back to the servants' quarters for some deep cleaning, and he discovers that the maid who he knocked out and put on a bus to Florida had been shining more than a few knobs around the mansion.
Pearl Harbor
Finally a WWII film that tells the real story of how we took on the Japanese at Pearl Harbor and kicked their skinny little tails, heaving bombs up into the trunks of their planes when they weren't looking. Man, I would have loved to see the looks on their faces when those bombs went off. Some irresponsible networks actually played the film footage of the attack backwards, leading many Americans to believe that Japan actually tried to bomb us on that fateful day. Right, like they'd try to bomb us! Think about it people: they're just a tiny little island. We could just go over there and blow over all their little rice paper houses with a big fan or something. Don't be so naĂŻve.
Television:
Woolf Lake (CBS)
As always, CBS takes the high road in its effort to keep its audience (average age 92) thrilled with the most boring programming available. This particular time, you've got to respect their literary credentials. Each week members of the Woolf Lake book club get together and discuss how much they enjoyed their latest reading assignment. No stars, per se, unless you count Virginia Woolf (the show's namesake), Henry James, Mark Twain, or Agatha Christie. And of course, nobody does.
The Agency (CBS)
The black eye network continues to make its 21st century comeback with this hot new sitcom adapted from that infomercial about the ad agency with the new IBM computers. Who can blame them? Few television network shows had such well-developed characters as the fat guy from accounting and that old guy who was afraid of getting on the internet. Some advice from Roland M: Drop that boring soccer mom who keeps whining about sending out e-mail memos, that pony won't play ball more than one episode.
Maybe it's Me (WB)
Give up now, Survivor! The ultimate reality show is here, and who would have thought the WB would have it? Six horrible hack stand-up comedians are put onto a set where each week they throw out the script and try to ad-lib each other out of the spotlight! The gag: They've all been told they're starring in a new sitcom, while the truth is that when it's over, only one of them can go on to star in a third-rate WB sitcom with lousy writing next season! Unless the other five get put into their own ABC shows or something.
Video Games:
The Sims Hot Date (PC)
Call me a whacko with no sense of humor, but paying $30 just to get a box with a rubber glove and Jergens lotion in it doesn't sit well with me, folks at Electronic Arts. I bet you assholes are the ones who unscrew the salt shaker at KFC whenever I'm dining in. Fuckers.
Metallica Solitude (PS2)
Everyone who knows games (and I do) has been waiting forever for this huge arrival for the Playstation 2, and it finally arrives, about ten years too late. I've never been a big fan of Metallica or their lead singer Snake, so maybe it's my fault this computerized version of their biggest video is a let down. Not bad, but playing as a crumpled old man digging your way out of some futuristic prison while morbid arpeggio music plays in the background isn't my idea of high-speed gaming.
Alone in the Dark 4 (DC)
Those fuckers at Electronic Arts are making "games" for Dreamcast now. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I come after you with a goddamn shotgun, you butt-humping jerkwipes. May you rot in hell. In the meantime, I've got a nice set of dish gloves and more Jergens lotion than anybody needs. Electronic Arts can lick my salty parts.
Well, I hope that all turned your world upside-down, I know it did mine. We'll be back in six days short of a fortnight to rain entertainment manna down on your unsuspecting heads one more time. Watch for it.   |
