GJC4KFC4EVA

God I love KFC. If the Colonel wasn't some rotting corpse infested with maggots buried deep down in a field in Kentucky I would kiss him on the lips and offer to do much more if he would just whisper those sweet 11 herbs and spices into my ear. Recently I stumbled upon an article in The Guardian claiming to have the secret receipe and for those of you who can't be bothered going to the link, here it is...
1 teaspoon ground oregano
1 teaspoon chilli powder
1 teaspoon ground sage
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried marjoram
1 teaspoon pepper
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon onion salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
2 tablespoons Accent (MSG)

Who knows if this is the real thing. Perhaps it's even better than the real thing although I doubt that's possible even if Bono says it is. Bono talks a lot of shite anyway and comes up with lyrics like, "Stuck together with god's glue, it's gonna get stickier too'. I always thought 'god's glue' was a euphemism for jizz and if so there's much better rhyming potential with 'duck butter' anyway. Here is a receipe for Bono:

1 teaspoon ground bollocks
1 pair of silly big glasses
1 pair of tight pants
1 big potato
4 litres of sanctimoniousness
2 tablespoons of Irish tiddly tiddly Accent
Mix until smooth and tasteless and sprinkle over a tablespoon of Brian Eno before serving cold.

Feel free to add receipes for your own favourite bands or singers.

But back to KFC. Some euphemisms for KFC include 'KFaeces', (thanks to Jari for this I think) and 'Dirty Bird', (thanks to Ben for this one) . Deep down part of you knows that by consuming KFC you are consuming small amounts of pooh and dirt along with the bird but if you're like me, that's all part of the thrill. I don't smoke, or take drugs made up of single letters, I have no desire to jump out of a plane or bungy jump or fall backwards into the arms of a bunch of actors doing some wanky trust exercise however I do love to eat KFC because you know it's not good for you, it feels dangerous, naughty and wrong and you keep furtively looking out the window in case somebody you know sees you with chicken juice dribbling down your chin and a breast hanging from your soggy lips. Just typing that last sentence has got me all moist for some of the Colonel's crack and I've already had some for lunch.

Here's is a picture of me with Ben eating some of the Colonel's finest in Clapham Common. I had been told that the best place in London to go and share your meat with another man was Clapham Common and they were right, it was lovely. Look how happy we both are. I think this love of KFC comes from growing up in Christchurch. For a long time KFC was the only fast food you could get in Christchurch. It was such a special treat and I still associate it with occasions like birthdays, marriages, Christmas and death. Just like Pavlov's dog I start salivating when I hear a bell rung by a Russian with a big bucket of chicken. In fact Ivan Pavlov bears an uncanny resemblance to Colonel Harland David Sanders, so they may be the same person which raises questions I can't be bothered asking or answering.

Please don't judge me for my KFC obsession. I only ever have a two or three piece quarter pack, I never eat the potato and gravy and all this new fangled hot spicy wing crispy nibbler stuff is anathema to me. After every meal a small part of me dies. I feel guilty, dirty and ashamed but I know I will do it again and ask myself the same question, 'Which came first, the chicken or the Greg?'