when i said "inevitably", i really wasn't kidding.

KFC, you win.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, but there you have it. If you're a restaurant and you come about the decision that one (1) Nicholas Thornton is your target demographic, then all you have to do is market a ridiculous looking sandwich that looks like it belongs on This Is Why You're Fat, and I will heed it's siren song, even after having talked shit not a day beforehand.

With that said, the Double Down wasn't as horrifying as it's own description made it sound. I'll go into it more later, but first, here's a report from our very own Senior Fatty Food Correspondent, Chris Lopez:

 The KFC Double Down. The claim is deliciousness, the fear is certain death... let's push caution into the wind and take the Double Down for a test drive. May I ask what your opinion of bacon is? Delicious you say? What about cheese? Mystery sauce? What about flaky golden brown chicken filets? I've come to the conclusion that the KFC Double Down is delicious to the 5th power. Warning, KFC Dubdown must be eaten before it eats you. This product is known to the state of California to cause cancer. Brought to you by your Senior Fatty Food Correspondent. enjoy!

Could do worse, right? Thanks, Chris!

Press onward, young scribe, for my near-death experience with the Dubdown, after the break.

With the knowledge of it's own accursed existence gnawing at me, I pressured my lovely wife into stopping at the KFC / Pizza Hut on the way to the Secretary of State's office to give this little form of assisted suicide a spin. Now, the implications of this trip weren't to be taken lightly, as a visit to the KFC / Pizza Hut in Lake Orion is usually a sacred one, and there are certain traditions that are abided by. The combination of fried chicken and pizza, I've found, is one of the little keys that unlocks The Meaning of Life in a grand, existential sense. But honestly, it's a foolhardy endeavor to order a Double Down, potato wedges, and a personal Pan Pizza, and expect to make it through the entire meal without your stomach bursting like that dude in Se7en. I'm ordering this on faith, is what I'm saying.

I've seen his face a million times before on a million other tasty adventures to the KFC / Pizza Hut, but his smile seemed to be communicating something entirely different this time around. He knew what was inside that box, and it gave him a certain sadistic pleasure, knowing that another poor bastard was about to subject himself to it based on internet hype alone. Sitting in my hand, it may as well have been Pandora's Box. Time ticked by for what felt like an eternity before I mustered the gumption to actually open it.

I stared at it, into it, and it stared back. The positioning of the two fried chicken breasts, the two slices of cheese, bacon, and that awful sauce, dripping down like an ichor: it had to be intentional. This was a face, an atrocious face, and it was smiling at me, mocking me for thinking that I even had the stones to go toe-to-toe with it. Well, you know what, you fucking sandwich? I've got stones to spare, pal.

I dove right in, feeling it's rubbery Pepper Jack cheese on my tongue. You have to almost unhinge your jaw and come at it like a snake to eat it, and it feels appropriate. To consume the monster, you must become a monster yourself. It fought me all the way down to the last bite, and I felt like a different man after I was finished. No amount of Mountain Dew could wash away the shame of having actually just eaten a Double Down, and I think that's the lesson to take away from this.

Here's a blurb to use in your commercials, KFC: I ate the Double Down, but I think that it ate my soul.

SCORE: 7 / 10.