Monday, October 31, 2005


I cannot describe to you how much I loathe K.F.C. commercials (fuck you chicken abusers if you think you can lure me in with your narsty "flavor station" spooge and your free apple pie), but this recent one they're running to death is the worst.

First of all, they obviously hired the director's girlfriend, or similar, to play the mom. She does not look like a mom. Okay, well, maybe in Arkansas. But anyway, she doesn't exactly look like she's been consuming fried chicken by the bucketful in between birthin' them babies.

Which is not to say I think she is hot, either. Also, she could not act her way out of a used, discarded Kleenex box full of wet hair.

I hate everything about this commercial. Nothing appeals to me. Especially this so-called mom, who I find intensely irritating.

Is it her overplucked eyebrows? The cutesy little ro sham bo motion she makes with her wrists holding the felt-tipped markers? Her stoopid ponytail? The way she fakes eating the fried chicken while looking warily around at her three fake "children", her creepy Karen Carpenter eyes just begging for the take to be over so she can yak into the spit bucket...? Oh yes. It is all of these things, plus something else I can't quite put my finger-lickin' (gross) finger on.

And then, her scary, Aryan Nation, Heather O' Rourke (R.I.P.) in Poltergeist but creepier "child" reacts to "...get it? Blue? Bluebirds? Dur...?" with "Mom, what color is dinner?!" (in a smart alecky tone that would have gotten me slapped six shades of purple when I was her age), her freaky, blue-bluebirds-blue eyes riveted to The Pro-Animal Cruelty Refrigerator Magnet of Cancer-Ridden Death. Oh, how I abhor them all.

And then, with the theme song. Oh, god no. Not the theme song. If I ever even liked "Sweet Home Alabama" pre-Bo Bice, it is so, so very dead to me now. Plus, Len-nerd Skin-nerd is probably rolling over in their respective graves - they have ironed out the rock-ness into a bland, commercial ditty, save for some bizarre chicken-death-rattle type noise, and the rollicking piano part, which only serves to make me want to kill, Kill, KILL...!

I have, like, dog ears for that shit. Maybe it is supposed to make you hungry for chicken, but personally, it makes me bloodthirsty for human flesh. Like the bland, pliant, yielding, maddeningly juicy skin of that bad TV mother. (Funny...tastes like Church's!)

Yes, I want her poultry-consuming, khaki chinos-wearing ass dead. Deader than those poor abused KFC chickens they use as basketballs. Stone. Cold. D.E.D.

Thank you, and Happy Halloween.
-Psycho Chicken Commercial Killer.


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