Yes, I know you love Popeye’s too, but for me it goes beyond that. It’s much deeper and pure.
I love Popeye’s as nobody has ever loved Popeye’s before.
I love Popeye’s as nobody currently loves Popeye’s.
I love Popeye’s as nobody will ever love Popeye’s again.
The breasts are succulent juicy and tender, yet crunchy and spicy on the outside. They are made fresh, never frozen, soaked in batter and hand rolled through the secrety floury, crusty goodness before they are deep-fried to perfection.
Usually I have a breast, two wings, and a drumstick, all spicy style, of course. As I partake in this meal that can only be described as a profound act of love, the accoutrements are nearby. I have a small red beans and rice, a small mashed potatoes with gravy, a piece of corn on the cob, 4 biscuits, and a small batter dipped fries, with a large diet coke on the side.
I take a bite of chicken (listen now to the crunch, see the juices run down my chin. The soft heat of the chicken is ecstasy itself.
While chewing I dip the light flaky, buttery saltiness of a biscuit into the mashed potatos, and add a bite to the melange of spicy goodness in my mouth. Then a spoonful of red beans and rice, a handful of fries and a chug of diet coke.
Repeat as necessary.
The wings go quickly which leaves extra biscuit for the potatos and gravy.
When all is done, I use the corn to clean the palate, finish off the coke, and fall back sated.
Yet, I am sad. It is all I can do not too weep. I am full and I can eat no more. It will at least be another day before I can partake of you again, Oh Popeye’s.
If I were a better man, I would be able to consume the eight piece me with large sides, but alas and alack I am only what I am.
Perhaps, this one time, I shall go back again for dinner.
Oh Popeye’s! Oh Popeye’s I yearn for you!