I want to congratulate Burger King on the most amazing advertising campaign in the history of late-night television (also known as I Can’t Afford Porn TV). I’m referring to BK’s commercials promoting their new chicken fries. These commercials, sandwiched between ads for Girls Gone Wild and Sally’s Nude Buffet, show a group of “rock stars” wearing Foghorn Leghorn hats. The “band’s” name? Coq Roq (i.e., cock rock, for those of you who aren’t hooked on phonics). The band’s new single, featured in the ads? “Bob Your Head.”
Oh, I get it. Bob your head and rock the cock. Funny.
Associating food with oral sex is brilliant. After all, if someone could create a psychic link between knob-jobs and broccoli, I’d be picking green, leafy shit out of my teeth 24/7, if you know what I mean (if you don’t, you need to spend more time in the shower; it’s not all rinse and repeat, Mary Poppins).
Besides, McDonald’s has done worse. They ran an ad promoting their value menu that asked: how long does a proctologist have to work to buy something off our value menu? The answer: about as long as it takes to slip on a rubber glove (in the commercial, the doctor slips on the glove while a very frightened young man watches from the corner of the screen). Great. Now, when I eat a double cheeseburger it’s hard not to be reminded of the man who will someday reach up my ass and pull it out. Thanks McDonald’s. I’m loving it?
But seriously, Burger King is on to something here. I for one would eat at Taco Bell every day if they came out with the Camel Toe Gordita. And if Pizza Hut offered Happy Ending stuffed crust, I’d light up a Pall Mall every time the delivery man rang the doorbell. Don’t even get me started on Wendy’s Ass-Hamster Salad.
Of course, if I were Burger King, I’d do some cross promotions with Carl’s Jr., because, as the ad says, if it doesn’t get all over the place, it doesn’t belong in your face. And nothing says bukaki like chicken fries and a Happy Star. Right?
What I’m impressed with, though, is not the fact that Burger King has the balls to run the ad. No, what amazes me is that the parents of America haven’t vomited letters of complaint all over Washington, D.C. American parents, after all, are the same group of dimwits that bitched about Janet Jackson’s split-second nippage, the same people appalled by Grand Theft Auto’s overly pixilated hummer that MIT grads spent months unlocking. This is the group of freaks that boycotted the Teletubbies because they thought those little Oompa Loompa wannabes were gay.
But not a single parents group is boycotting the home of the Whopper. So, kudos to Burger King for realizing that, while Americans are a moral people, they’re too stupid to know when their morals are being outraged.
I’ll tell you this, though: if Burger King really does do it like I do it, the next time the drive-thru lady asks if you want anything else, demand a handful of Valtrex and directions to the nearest free clinic.
And by the way, if I’m cramming these chicken fries down my mouth, does that make me gay? And if so, wouldn’t I be better off with McDonald’s 99 cent colonoscopies?