Kong my whopper

I wish to commend Burger King for one of the most tightly knotted pieces of intertextual marketing it has ever been my privilege to witness. "Kong my Whopper". I know, without breaking stride as I sweep into the eaterie, that this means an outlandish amount of meat, in a bun. Whopper is already pretty big - whopping, even. And now they're offering to Kong - confer Giant Ape status upon - it. Well this super ape inna babylon couldn't be more pleased.

However, fake advertising awards aside - why does everything have to be spruced up slightly to make it seem more complex than it is? BECAUSE IT'S SHIT! This is why Burger King and the like have undone their decent Kong My Whopper work by having started engaging in pithy faux-conversation with the idle muncher of their products. Ambling chat that says nothing printed on the side of fries packs and the like. I want junk food, not an Interactive Meal Experience! What's wrong with you?

Furthermore, they say things like 'We may be the king but you, my friend, are the almighty ruler.' ??? The contemporary vogue for self-emphasis has reached its apogee, or perhaps nadir, here. Conferring deity status on the customers is not clever, it's asking for smite-related trouble. And they don't even mean it anyway! It's like they're saying, ' "The customer is always right", but we're going to buffer this anachronistic sentiment in some cagey language so you think we're being obsequious-but-not-overly-so, and so you know, further, that we're actually better than you because we're right clever with words and that.'

Shut up and Kong My Whopper, burger jockeys, and less of your lip!

And! Sorry to come back to the bread and apostrophe shunners Pret a manger, but they're doing it as well. Astoundingly, they print 'how to make a (sandwich x)' instructions on the side of their sandwich bags. Is this marketing fuckwittedness on an interplanetary scale, or is there, as per BK, a more sinister agenda of customer mockery going on, whereby they gleefully poke fun at the lunch slaveys coming out for their sustenance with NO TIME TO EVEN REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO MAKE A FUCKING SANDWICH ONCE?

Excuse me, I have some troughing to attend to before The Man once again makes onerous demands of my afternoon.