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, ¹I 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 … Continue reading 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. ²To 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. … Continue reading

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.