That Colonel Sanders is one convincing dude. What with the pointy goatee and the jaunty bowtie and the strains of “Sweet Home Alabama” wafting through the air, how are you to resist the tasty temptation of a bucket of chicken? Sure, “family-style” is meant to be shared by an entire family, but who’s to say you don’t need a whole week’s worth of calories in one sitting?
Ignoring the disapproving looks from the drive-thru employees and the copious amounts of grease dripping from the paper bag, you speed away, cackling and salivating. You pull up next to your favorite lake, claim your favorite picnic table, and lay out your favorite sauces and dips in a pattern that spells out your name, as is your way. You tuck a napkin into your shirt, grab a hunk of fowl carcass, and prepare to savor each and every one of those eleven secret herbs and spices.
Biting into the soft, fleshy meat, you squeal in delight as heaven fills your mouth. How did it come to be that we mere mortals were permitted to experience such bliss? Offering songs of praise to God, honey mustard, and the state of Kentucky, you revel in the culinary orgasm taking place in your food hole. What could possibly ruin this beautiful moment?
Well, so wrapped up you are in this Carnival of Scrumptiousness, you’re about to lose control over your bodily functions. This will spell deeper, smellier trouble down the road, but for now it means only one thing: that tongue of yours has wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. You chomp down on what you think is a luscious strip of delectable white meat. But, according to your pain receptors, it is clearly not.
You howl in agony, dropping the devil drumstick to the ground. Accursed foodstuff! You dance around the picnic area, frightening small children with your sobs and frenzied thrashing. There’s nothing you can do about it, of course, but that doesn’t stop you from screaming at inanimate objects and waving at your mouth as if it were on fire and a gentle breeze is just the thing to put it out. Spitting out blood, you slump back down onto your bench and begrudgingly resign yourself to a week of pain and lisping.
So if you want to suck at life, forget how to operate your tongue. Sure, you’ve possessed this key piece of anatomy since birth, but as it turns out – practice does not make perfect.