Normally, I’m in awe of San Francisco Gate columnist Mark Morford, who twice-weekly dispenses his unique blend of fiery sarcasm and Yoga wisdom, but this man who steadily and sharply rails against the worst excesses of American culture has gone too far this time — he’s picking on Wendy’s:
The burger is this: two sickeningly brownish-gray, chemical-blasted 1/4-pound beeflike patties, intersliced with two slabs of neon-orange cheeselike substance, slathered with mayonnaise, all topped with the big kicker: six (yes, six) strips of bacon. Oh my, yes. It’s like a giant middle finger to your heart.
This product’s name? The “Baconator.” You know, like “Terminator,” only for, uh, a huge stack of cow/pig meat that celebrates your impending coronary/impotence/cancer with every bite. Genius.
Let me just wash down this last bite with some Coke and I’ll answer that question. It’s not stupidity that fools people into eating the Baconator, it’s courage. It’s the stubborn willfulness of saying, “Hey, I know exactly what a terrible idea this is but I’m gonna go for it anyway!” It’s why people smoke or skydive or drive too fast or listen to Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell II. It’s the thrill of knowing you did it and SURVIVED.
Once you’ve eaten a Baconator, you will actually feel the sensation of your intestines shutting down for two hours but you will also feel the blood rushing through your veins. You’ll feel ALIVE!