the alfmeister

a figment of reality's imagination

Archive for the category “complaint”

Eat Shit and Die; KFC’s Mexican ‘offering’…


When I was younger, my older brother once farted on my head just at that point where I breathed in...this burger tasted worse...

When I was younger, my older brother once farted on my head just at that point where I breathed in…this burger tasted worse…

And by offering, I mean some sort of Pagan-esque sacrificial lamb, and by lamb I mean chicken (at least I think it was chicken), and by chicken, I mean something crumbed somewhat attempting to resemble a chicken (albeit minus wings, legs, beak and ‘cluck’) yet had the taste and complexion of a sun-dried inner tube left to marinate in a sespool of rancid cow’s piss…

What? No idea, but it was advertised as the Mexican Zinger Burger…

Where? KFC Rangiora…

When? When I come out of this gastro-influenced coma I will endeavour to remember. But it was sometime after work last week, and sometime before violently scratching the back of my throat with my fingers in an effort to extricate whatever had crawled in there and died…

Coin? All things considered (it being a combo), too much. In fact, I would expect to be paid to eat it next time…

Pros? The Mountain Dew, and I bloody well hate Mountain Dew…oh, and the hot blonde behind the counter (who unfortunately didn’t serve me)…

Cons? Everything including the shit-arsed fries (which used to be a KFC speciality), the cold burger, the soggy corn chips layered to give an air of Tijuana but felt more like a mouthful of wet bark, and the cost, which per square inch is more than Auckland property.

 

And herein ends the lesson….

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Loving them ivories…


Yep, book me in...wait! No Penthouse mags??

Yep, book me in…wait! No Penthouse mags??

It had been two years (pre-Feb ’11 ‘quakes) since I had last had my teeth checked, and despite repeated intrusions from two dentistry’s via mail, TXT, email, and calls at the most inopportune times, I finally sauntered into ‘my’ dentist for my six-monthly (!?!) checkup and clean.

Now behind proctology – no pun intended – dentistry must command a special kind of person willing to dive into the recesses of some stranger’s mouth while risking losing a finger tip, inhaling halitosis, being covered in spit, or getting a punch in the face as the result of a slip of that fucking pointy thing they jam between your teeth. So credit to them when they charge like a wounded bull because there wouldn’t be enough money, not enough exotic cars in the garage, enough kids at private school, or bikini-clad bits of fluff (on the side, of course) in rented apartments that would make me want to preach the value of flossing to someone bleeding from the gums and drooling.

Memories of the old ‘murder house’ always come flooding back when I see the dentist, although I have been somewhat blessed with only three fillings (all converted to white ceramic or whatever) in 40-odd years of chewing gum, Fruit Bursts, ripping red meat, smoking and coffee, so other than one particular drilling incident when I was a nipper, such visits don’t bother me in the slightest. In fact, and some of those who know, going to the dental nurse back at school was something to be waited on, full of expectation, and cherished. Our nurse was the hottest thing going, and while my now-raging hormones and class-time erections hadn’t kicked in, the feeling and smell of her ample bosom pressed into the side of my face, covering an eye and bordering on the corner of my mouth as she carried out her fine art are moments that will go to the grave with me…

…so back to the present…

'Hang on, I think my watch is in there..."

‘Hang on, I think my watch is in there…”

To my credit, and the young (read Doogie Howser young) dentist and the wee blondie at this side my time in the horizontal position was short as he ground, scraped, and polished my teeth while I wondered if he and the wee hottie helping were rooting at the motel across the road in lunch breaks, but it was his analysis of my x-rays that made me double-take…

…you see, two years previous, my last check up if you remember, at the same place, I was told by another dentist (older, seemingly wiser, a bit of plaque under his belt for use of a better analogy) had also x-rayed my teeth and claimed there was a cavity forming in one of my bigger choppers – molar, bowler, or something – and would need attention at my next visit (being the obligatory six months later). So one would think, in fact worry, over the following 24mths that his teeth were a right fucken state harboring devils and germs never seen before on a Colgate ad, void of any enamel and rotting through the gums and into my hefty jaw line…

…young doc (are they doctors?) gives me the clean bill of health…

…right….

….ummmmm…

"Don't worry Sir, this won't hurt me a bit..."

“Don’t worry Sir, this won’t hurt me a bit…”

…did old Arfur (remember ‘Minder’?) try to pull a swifty? Or is baby-blue here incompetent?

Either way, $144.00 later (with a free Colgate gift pack) later it didn’t seem too relevant.

But I got a wee kick in. Standing in the hallway between his office and reception that one moment, that question issued forth to me; “Do you floss?” I hate this question, designed to scare the individual into rushing out and buying 20cm of white string (which is just too similar to tampon threads if you ask me) and at first was proud to say ‘no’ in order to stand up to them. But such an answer would normally be met with patronising ‘tasks tsks’ and shaking of the head while be scolded about the failures of proper dental care, so of more recent times I (yes, I) just gave in and say “Yes, twice a day.”

I don’t know what made me answer the way I did today though…

“Do you floss?”

“I go down on my wife two or three times a week…does that count?”

The look on his face, the stifled laugh from his young, buxom ‘helper’, and the gasp from the reception and waiting room area made it one of the proudest moments I have had…now maybe they won’t bug me for my next appointment.

You. Are. Fucking. Kidding?!? Right?


I saw this video clip on Facebook and viewed it by sheer curiosity. Truth be known, I thought it might be a bit of porn, or some twat falling on his face while riding his bike pissed or something….

…but very quickly I started to get angry. If there’s one thing I cannot stand its hypocrisy. If there’s one thing that is worst than that, it hypocrisy arising within  the religious.

It generally is typical of American tourists and the fundamentalists to believe they can do as they wish regardless of where they are and what rules are enforced, and while this video doesn’t even concern New Zealand, and is about as far removed from my idyllic existence as can be, it has my alcohol-based and nicotine-traced blood boiling to overflowing. Surely that kind of shit from minorities wouldn’t happen here while the harmless reactionaries loosely formed as our Government turn a blind eye?

Does it? It couldn’t? Could it?

Ahhh, me old mucker, Da Bish…

Was the third credit in the opening sequence a hidden threat, Bri?

In Rebuttal…


Yours truly, as a result of a dedicated diet removed of anything mineral, vegetable, and animal...i.e. McDonald's...

Yours truly (right), as a result of a dedicated diet removed of anything mineral, vegetable, and animal…i.e. McDonald’s…

Yesterday I had the pleasure to read the blog of an equally cynical mind, although I suspect he is of the ilk that has really yet come to sample the bitter sting of ‘real life’ being a mere student (Law, no less!)…however, he has earned credible stripes from working part-time in a bottley (for our non-Antipodean followers a bottley is a place where you buy over-priced piss).

…he claimed he had ‘solved the world’s problems’, so sporting the Staff of Angst and wearing inappropriate swimming gear I dived right in…as I am almost bound by contractual agreement to say; you’re wrong…in part.

Like yourself I have been known to pick on the fatties too, let’s face it, its easy, and last week when a portly Duncan Garner debated the feasibility of a ‘fat-tax’ I duly made up a bowl of popcorn, opened a fresh 1.5l of Coke, and wedged myself into the bum-imprint ingrained into my comfy sofa to mock and hiss as most Kiwis do…where no one can argue back.

While the masses argue gay marriage and Mighty River Power, the endemic (or could it be classed as pandemic?) problem of obesity is growing at an alarming rate (excuse the pun) and I for one find it disgusting that little is being done about it. The future effects it will have on our health and benefit’s infrastructure always has me pausing for effect before digging into that Family Bucket from KFC.

...and after three week's of a Government-sponsored fat tax...**Actual p[picture may vary considerably from the truth**

…and after three week’s of a Government-sponsored fat tax…
**Actual picture may vary considerably from the truth**

It has been mooted we ‘plug them into the national grid’ as a replenishable natural resource. OK, fair enough, but that would require special ‘fat farms’ made up of unqualified Asian surgeons liposucting the fuel from hordes of fat fucks which immediately throws up a flaw; to get to one of these clinics would require fat pricks to get off their collective fat arses to attend.

Personally, a fat tax is a good start.

…on being fat, and eating shit-fat-inducing food. Why should McD’s rope in all the cash? Time for the John Key/Bill English puppet show to combat the ‘nanny-state’ thinking of the left-wing bleeding hearts.

I pay ‘additional’ taxes on my booze, on my smokes, and on my carbon-footprint nightmare Ford Fairlane…so why stop there?

Any sane individual insures his car, insurance firms have made a living out of me due to the fear of not being insured , and someday a politician will be smart enough to make vehicle insurance mandatory, and an alternative solution to obesity lies within. Let’s enforce a compulsory life and medical insurance on chubsters. State, AMI, Vero, particularly good at extorting cash for no good return, please take on the cash crop that is diabetes and other fatty-fatty-boomstick related illnesses…

The Mayor for Porirua ( local body leader of the second largest population of fatties in the country, possibly)  claims such taxes would put the cost of fast food beyond the reach of the lower socio-economic…ummmm, why the hell are they eating at KFC and McD’s anyway? I would suggest they couldn’t/shouldn’t afford it anyway and I guess I do feel for them, what with their Sky bill, car payments on that new HSV, while renting out the state-owned garage to eight illegal can be a burden…

…can I be the first to congratulate Air Samoa on their recent charges implementation…mind you, a good way to alienate about 90% of your native population.

…and from such beginnings comes crime. While I don’t have the hard facts on it, it would come as no surprise to me (if it were in fact true) that the lower socio-economic, KFC-chaffing fatsos are probably tied up in some nefarious crime or another, be it benefit fraud, dope growing, pimping their kids on the streets, or wearing leggings in public.

jonestownJono The BARsTewARD makes a valid point of relocating the criminal element to the distant Auckland Islands. As a person who has been lucky enough to travel to the cold dark recesses of hell I nevertheless feel that shifting rapists and murderers there will only be of a disadvantage to the local fauna. Surely having the native pig population gang-raped by our dregs is not a nice outcome, well certainly not to the pigs…

Certainly just the name Auckland itself becomes a  deterrent, like Alcatraz, Sing Sing and the like, and with that I suggest we just keep them there, in Auckland…

…if its good enough for Bishop Tamaki…

 

 

What is the real issue here?


Yep, that's how I have always envisioned my fast food being eaten...

Yep, that’s how I have always envisioned my fast food being eaten…

Warning; while every precaution by the writer has been made to ensure that gratuitous sex is shown at every possible moment, unfortunately references to unsexy people has had to be included to ensure a stable and level report. 

 

I like to think of myself as a pretty laid back individual, however I will also be the first to admit I get pretty wound up, sometimes over the little, trivial things in life while bigger problems such as famine, poverty, crime and politics pass me by.

Where ethics, morals, and standards (especially double-standards) fit into the grand scheme of things I have no idea, but a mate, one who obviously gets some sick pleasure from my rants flicked me an article to read, a supporting video to view, and then asked what I thought…well, like a red rag to a bull this was always going to warrant a response, and while at the time I consumed a skinful of beers coursing through my veins a day later and sober I have had no less change of heart to this matter…so here we go!

Advertising 101 dictates that ‘sex sells’, and yes I agree; if you happen to have a great set of tits, or a pencil thin figure, or (in the case of men) steroid-enhanced biceps, triceps and abs why not flaunt them where possible. As a slightly overweight, tone-deficient, and pasty white skinned bloke it does not bother me one iota that the man selling me a pair of undies insinuates that he packs the kind of tackle only found between the hind legs of a Grand National winner…fine by me, if they are comfy, and don’t cause my various itches, rashes and pimples on my nether regions to flare up. And some busty, lithe bird wants to use her engorged nipples to sell me frozen peas or car tyres, again, that suits me fine. I am intelligent enough to know that buying these brands does not preclude to scoring Playboy Bunnies, Megan Fox, or the MILF I see at my three year-old’s preschool. But if I need something, or as important, want something, the advertising has little to do with it.

So how is it that the ad (shown below) has been banned on the grounds of being ‘too risqué’? I watched it, and watched it again, and in the interests of making a well-informed and unbiased judgement, watched it a further 32 times, and yet cannot find anything wrong with the ad…well, not in the same sense as the Commercial Approvals Bureau (CAB) do, heck, I barely cracked a chubby and to me that signifies the content as being mild as I can ‘crack a fat’ over EziBuy circulars. And really, is there anything actually sexy about hamburgers? I don’t recall Mickey Rourke eating one-off of Kim Basinger’s belly in 9 1/2 Weeks (although I am sure he wanted to, who wouldn’t?), I don’t even remember Charlie Sheen doing the same in the parody ‘Hot Shots’ either and that alone places the hamburger very low on the list of pornographic food-stuffs…shit, watch any of Tui’s ads, where is the defined line between what is OK and what isn’t?

But I do have an issue with the ad. in fact not with the ad itself, but the morals the ads poses. We live in a society which will not allow us to view an ad with scantily clad women cooking meat patties, but we allow such food to be marketed to a society of morbidly obese people. And what’s more, it is Michael Jones, a Pacific Island (if not NZ) icon using that fame to market a food to a demographic with a real health issue. Liken this to Stacey Jones’ ads for Instant Finance and it becomes a moral debate – selling money to those who can’t afford it, as the target market are those who instantly recognise, trust, and act on their word. It seems the real issues are being missed by a narrow-minded and blinkered authority who unwittingly create a double standard in a world where tobacco companies are denied their rights to advertise yet fast food, gambling and alcohol companies freely suck in addictive personalities…provided they aren’t too sexy of course.

Rae Duff, a poster girl and fine example for healthy living.

Rae Duff, a poster girl and fine example for healthy living.

Then there is this Rae Duff woman who has managed to put her five cents in; “The overt sexual innuendo and stereotyping in this advertisement leads to an unhealthy focus on body image which encourages women and girls to regard their sexuality and size as key defining elements of their identity,” she said. Basically translated; “Yes, feed your fat face with shitty food, you should not have to be concerned with the risks of heart disease, obesity, and diabetes. As long as you don’t feel intimidated by those who had a presence of mind, and pride in themselves, to look after their bodies. Right…having been a person who has seen the inside plenty of fast food restaurants in my time, I can tell you, Rae, that the majority of the girls and women in these places are showing little regard to their sexuality and size as they chaff down their multi-stacked burgers and fries with a side order of 1.5 litres of Coke.

Isn’t it bad enough that New Zealand exists as a nation of contradictions: a greater democracy which is at the mercy of minorities so the voice of the majority is ignored by the decisions of the few; a country becoming a nanny-state that allows benefits to be paid to hardened criminals while the average ‘working’ salary is a pittance; and where we demand that cops cannot carry guns yet we all shout our disgust when an officer is shot in the line of duty.

I would just like to point out that at least we don’t live in a country where one doesn’t have the right to vote, a country where murder and rape is a way of life, a country where you can be shot just for being a girl who wants to go to school, or a country where women are forced into marriage and are required to wear face cloths…actually that last one isn’t too bad, I have woken up to women who’s looks could benefit from this accessory.

Meh…

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