Double Downed

The cry went out-- "For science! we must eat this thing!" And so it began. A quiet, unassuming box graced with a cheery face to distract us from the stench of grease that hung heavy in the air:

And within this box? What treasures could lie within?

A wax packet, stamped with the symbol of our foe, and a warning (which was, as you shall see, quite superfluous).

With our prize revealed, there was a resounding "welp" heard across the land, as shoulders were shrugged far and wide in honor of tepid bacon draped with entirely unmelted processed cheese. Caution: Hot? Caution: Slightly Above Room Temperature, perhaps. A closer look inside the beast:

At a sight such as this our feeble wills could no longer restrain themselves, and the feasting did begin in earnest:

At last! The Colonel's sauce made an appearance, oozing between the sheets of cheese. And the chicken (I am assured it is worthy of the name by law), which had been spoke of far and wide as "damp" failed to disappoint in this regard.

Between the general lack of crispness in the breading and the squelching of the flesh with every bite, it was truly a sight to dazzle and delight the senses.

Finally, our foe was vanquished, and we were left with the lingering burn that clings to one's lips and mouth as only a tablespoon of salt can, and the parting thought: "I've eaten worse, I suppose."