"Cluck For Your Buck"

It was a TV ad for the new Burger King chicken whopper, which the BK people are basically claiming to be the Second Coming of the Sandwich, not to offend anyone who believes in the resurrection and ascension of The Colonel or have accepted Ronald McDonald as their personal Lord and Server.

So there’s the guy in the obligatory chicken suit prancing about in the commercial, or maybe it was a cartoon -- the line gets blurred sometimes -- and the people on screen are all on the verge of an orgasm because some absolute genius in a corporate think-tank decided to put a slab of yard bird where a slice of cow used to be, and Oh My God what a great time to be alive and have a digestive system and right there at the end, right when you are fully saturated with the glory of all that is fast food, they sneak it in:

“Cluck and you get fifty cents off.”

Yes, apparently if you make a chicken sound for the person at Burger King who is taking your order, you will receive a fifty-cent discount on your new chicken whopper. No, seriously.

This raises oh-so-many questions, doesn’t it? Well, maybe not for you, as you probably actually have something to do today, but for me … well, the mind reels.

What sort of quality control measures have been put in place for this cluck coupon? For example, was there a nation-wide training session for the counter staff of BK to help them identify and sign off on a half-dollar’s worth of clucking? Because you know some people are gonna try to sneak by with this one. Like, just sorta say, “Yeah, a chicken whopper and uh … you know, ‘cluck,’ or something.”

Do they get the same discount as the person who goes all out, who actually practiced their cluck at home in front of a mirror?

You know, if I were lucky enough to be a teenager working at Burger King right now, I would be the last person you would want taking your order if you thought you were going to get away with some half assed buck-ock.

I would be the Orson Welles of the chicken whopper campaign, the Cecil B. Demille of the humiliating measly discount, demanding a full, passionate performance from each of my customers when it came time to be reimbursed by the piper.

I’d take you aside and explain your motivation:

“You’re a chicken, see, and you got a hunger. A deep, gnawing hunger that can only be quelled by the sweet, forbidden flesh of your brethren.”

I’d set up some conflict:

“Your ex-girlfriend has been spreading rumors that you’re a lousy cluck. Here’s your chance to take back some pride.”

I’d help you plumb your personal experience, assisting you in uncooping your inner Foghorn Leghorn:

“Did your mother like chickens? She secretly wished you’d been born a chicken, didn’t she?”

Yes, and when you hitched yourself up for your four-bit discount, you would cluck from the very depths of your gizzard.

Oh, you’d leave my station far more than fifty cents richer, I can assure you that.

Certainly asking people to do humiliating things for money is not a new concept, not even in the restaurant industry. I happen to know that the restaurant where the Last Supper was held was running a “Narc On The Messiah, Eat For Free” off-season special. (“Could we get another basket of The Lord's body for this end of the table, please?”)

Alas, this offer was only good for one person per party, otherwise there would be a lot more people named Judas running around today.

Also, Socrates could have seriously changed his day by taking advantage of the “Cluck And We Don’t Put Poison In Your Drink” special that most of Greece was having at the time. I guess he didn’t know about it. Or maybe he tried, but his cluck wasn’t convincing enough for the kid running the juice bar.

Do you think it’s a coincidence that his last words were, “Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?”

Yeah, probably so.

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