Doctor Angus: 1; Gastrointestinal Fortitude: 0

Shortly after Kyle and I got back from the coffeeshop last night, Laura called from Burger King; she was on her way home and asked if I’d like her to bring some dinner.

“Bring me one of those Angus burgers,” I said. “A big one, with no tomato. And some onion rings.”

Kyle had already eaten.

Of course, my choice was directly affected by my purely platonic love for Doctor Angus, ((I also love the Burger King himself: the plastic-headed, grinning mascot that many people find extremely creepy. He just seems so darn fun-loving to me, and there’s a glint in his eye that suggests his idea of fun may include tossing kittens in an incinerator or pushing your grandmother’s wheelchair onto a busy interstate highway. I should point out that I do not enjoy or condone such activities. Really.)) fictional pitchman for Burger King’s line of gourmet hamburgers. “I’m Doctor Angus,” chimed the voice in the back of my head, “and I’ve got a PhD in cheesy.”

Minutes later, dinner arrived and I attacked it with vigor. The burger was pretty darn tasty, and the onion rings were still warm enough that they hadn’t been rendered inedible. Add a monster-sized raspberry iced tea to wash it down and I was a pretty happy camper.

Until about three hours later. I won’t go into the gruesome details, but my night involved three trips to the bathroom and a cleansing ritual that likely changed weather patterns in the Swiss Alps. ((To be fair to Doctor Angus, it is not at all uncommon for Burger King to have that effect on me. And to be fair to Burger King, Laura suffered no ill-effects whatsoever from her Whopper meal. Whenever I eat the food from Burger King, I do so with the full knowledge that it may turn my digestive system into an expressway. It doesn’t happen every time, but often enough that I am aware of the cause-and-effect relationship.))

You might be surprised to learn that my feelings toward Doctor Angus have not been altered by the assault his cap leaf lettuce, freshly toasted corn-dusted bun and signature steak sauce made on my innards. He has won this round, but he is a formidable opponent and I still admire his cheesiness.

Next week: I know he’s singing “big buckin’ chicken,” but it sure as hell sounds like something else. It’s the new Tendercrisp Cheesy Bacon. Buckin’ chicken.