Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.

sad chickens

God. Mark Morford's news blurbs are not always spot-on, but the fascination of them is that they're like little stories. They're as good as fiction--better, in fact, than lots of stories I've seen. Case in point.

Gloppy Slabs Of Fried Meat-Like Greaseblobs, Just Like Wheatgrass

Fried chicken restaurant and noted irritating rash on the ass of all that is healthy and good, KFC plans to discontinue commercials touting its fried chicken as part of a healthy diet, a campaign that a consumer group complained was deceptive and that everyone alive who saw it felt was pretty much the stupidest damn thing they'd seen since Jared from Subway sat there sucking down 6-inch veggie subs every goddamn day for like 10 years straight or whatever. Company spokeswoman Bonnie Warschauer, yet another one of those sad lost people who used to have colorful amazing dreams but who somehow through a slew of really bad choices and massive doses of anti-depressants slouched into this weird gig where they basically sit around all day defending yet another noxious corporate monster from regular accusations pointing out how evil and poisonous their products are, said the ads will stop airing Friday as part of the "normal course of business" after a nearly four-week run. "This in no way means we admit to the notion that our de-beaked chemically blasted factory farmed heavily hormoned disease-addled tightly caged never-see-the-sun chicken-like creature/blobs are in any way unhealthy to the toxic all-American chemically saturated diet we cram down your throats you sad gullible suckers," she should've added, teetering on her heels as the various behavioral meds raced through in her bloodstream in a valiant if ultimately doomed battle to keep her from crying, later.

more of MM's newsletter here

I'm also reminded that I meant to rec Take This Longing again, now that it's done. A great, dark Angel/Wesley story by wesleysgirl and piedmargaret. Someday I need to figure out why some dark stories make me shudder and flee for the antidepressants and then curl up in a fetal ball under my desk until they take effect, while others, like this one, are a happy shade of dark that give me joy in my viscera. Hmmm.

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