Saving ourselves from the scourge of KFC

Some people swear by the health claims of medicinal KFC. Not me. I admit, I’ve used KFC recreationally. And I did digest.

But I was younger then. (About four days younger: this was on Saturday.)

Little did I realise, this private, after-hours, consensual act — between me, the Colonel and a deliciously cremated dead chicken — would suddenly become a public issue. KFC is sponsoring the World Cup of Rugby League. (Or, as this year’s event will be called, the Rugby League World Bucket.)

You may need to know a lot about KFC to know their larger orders are served in buckets. I know a lot about KFC.

I wonder why KFC ever stopped putting out Tender Roast. I wonder why KFC chips are always soggy. How can a company whose core business is deep frying chicken, forget everything when it comes to deep frying a potato?

The public health issue is morbid obesity. Is it morally OK for a giant corporation to target a community who flat out love their product? What next: marketing?

Fat-shaming is wrong, but calling it morbid obesity, makes you sound concerned, not insulting. Morbid obesity is like saying there’s congestion and gridlock in the cardiac CBD, and if we’re not careful, the council will need to install a quadruple bypass.

I’m old enough to remember when there was an event called the Benson & Hedges Fashion Awards. Hot, sticklike women were associated with hot, thin sticks. I also remember when B&H sponsored cricket and when Winfield sponsored league. We’ve come a long way. Tobacco is now a pariah, and their ill-gotten gains are no longer permitted to grab the coattails of other shallow physical pursuits. Indeed, cigarettes are not even allowed to advertise themselves, and must be sold incognito. Just to look upon their packaging is like looking inside the