Yes, I'd like Elle Macpherson with that
I couldn’t resist the siren’s call. And now I am a broken man. Obviously, I’m referring to the recent Carl’s Jr. swimsuit model-soda cup promotion.
For the price of an extra large drink or a large six-dollar burger combo meal, the classy fast food chain would give a patron a semi-sturdy plastic cup adorned with the image of one of four Sports Illustrated swimsuit models. I decided I would be one of the “lucky few to collect all four.” Not exactly, “We’re looking for a few good men,” but it moved me.
I refused, however, to check the block the easy way. Any perv with a thirst could buy four big drinks over the course of sixty days. No sir, I was going to buy four of the combo meals; specifically, four bacon western six-dollar burger meals. Few nutritionists design diets around this entrée, which features fried onion rings atop a ½ pound side of beef plus a large order of fries, just in case any arteries are still open. Indeed, I could feel oil oozing from my face halfway through my first meal. Interestingly, the next time my cheeks began leaking as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. Pavlov’s pores? It's tough to feel good about yourself after a large #7, but I tried to focus on the positives of soon having a harem of supermodels in my kitchen cabinet.
On my first trip, I landed Brazilian babe Daniella Sarahyba. On paper, it was a fabulous start. Alas, this was not Daniella’s best work. Perhaps she’d had too many Mohitos the night before the shoot. Maybe Walter Chin, the photographer, had been out partying with her. Could it be that rounded cheap plastic is not the best medium for art? I did not know and neither did the 15-year old cashier, who appeared to search for some sort of button underneath the counter after I asked her about this several times. No worries, I reminded myself, for I still had three other models to go.
Two weeks later, I returned to Eden, ready to claim the second leg of this gastronomical Grand Slam. I had not received official word that new cups would be issued every two weeks; rather, I did the simple math of 4 models divided by 60 days = two weeks. Face shining with greasy anticipation, I sprinted from the car. Unfortunately, my nemesis of a cashier was again on duty; judging by the acne on her cheeks, she, too, was no stranger to the six-dollar burger combo. I bounced nervously as she reached for my cup of beauty.
It’s…it’s…Daniella?! The teenager began to take the next customer’s order. I did not move. “But, I already have…” I stopped when I saw the look of contempt on her face. “Excuse me, sir?” Gather your thoughts. Stay calm. “There must be some mistake,” I said, hearing police sirens in the distance. “I don’t understand,” she responded. And how could she? “I already have this cup. Isn’t there…isn’t there a new one?” I could feel the crowd on line turn against me, but I stood firm. Like Indiana Jones at the end of LAST CRUSADE, I had come too far to just let go of the Grail.
Looking like she had just smelled rotten eggs, she turned and pointed to a stack of, conservatively, 200 cups, all of which bore Daniella’s face. How could this be? Where are all the others who have heard the call? I can’t be the only one, can I?
Anybody want to trade for a Daniella?
For the price of an extra large drink or a large six-dollar burger combo meal, the classy fast food chain would give a patron a semi-sturdy plastic cup adorned with the image of one of four Sports Illustrated swimsuit models. I decided I would be one of the “lucky few to collect all four.” Not exactly, “We’re looking for a few good men,” but it moved me.
I refused, however, to check the block the easy way. Any perv with a thirst could buy four big drinks over the course of sixty days. No sir, I was going to buy four of the combo meals; specifically, four bacon western six-dollar burger meals. Few nutritionists design diets around this entrée, which features fried onion rings atop a ½ pound side of beef plus a large order of fries, just in case any arteries are still open. Indeed, I could feel oil oozing from my face halfway through my first meal. Interestingly, the next time my cheeks began leaking as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. Pavlov’s pores? It's tough to feel good about yourself after a large #7, but I tried to focus on the positives of soon having a harem of supermodels in my kitchen cabinet.
On my first trip, I landed Brazilian babe Daniella Sarahyba. On paper, it was a fabulous start. Alas, this was not Daniella’s best work. Perhaps she’d had too many Mohitos the night before the shoot. Maybe Walter Chin, the photographer, had been out partying with her. Could it be that rounded cheap plastic is not the best medium for art? I did not know and neither did the 15-year old cashier, who appeared to search for some sort of button underneath the counter after I asked her about this several times. No worries, I reminded myself, for I still had three other models to go.
Two weeks later, I returned to Eden, ready to claim the second leg of this gastronomical Grand Slam. I had not received official word that new cups would be issued every two weeks; rather, I did the simple math of 4 models divided by 60 days = two weeks. Face shining with greasy anticipation, I sprinted from the car. Unfortunately, my nemesis of a cashier was again on duty; judging by the acne on her cheeks, she, too, was no stranger to the six-dollar burger combo. I bounced nervously as she reached for my cup of beauty.
It’s…it’s…Daniella?! The teenager began to take the next customer’s order. I did not move. “But, I already have…” I stopped when I saw the look of contempt on her face. “Excuse me, sir?” Gather your thoughts. Stay calm. “There must be some mistake,” I said, hearing police sirens in the distance. “I don’t understand,” she responded. And how could she? “I already have this cup. Isn’t there…isn’t there a new one?” I could feel the crowd on line turn against me, but I stood firm. Like Indiana Jones at the end of LAST CRUSADE, I had come too far to just let go of the Grail.
Looking like she had just smelled rotten eggs, she turned and pointed to a stack of, conservatively, 200 cups, all of which bore Daniella’s face. How could this be? Where are all the others who have heard the call? I can’t be the only one, can I?
Anybody want to trade for a Daniella?
posted by Jamo at 4:19 PM
7 Comments:
Bacon Western Six-Dollar Burger, nutritional information:
1080 calories
62g fat
135mg cholesterol
2450mg sodium
20g sugar
With a side of fries:
1700 calories
91g fat
2830mg sodium
21g sugar
Is that all?
I wonder if Carl's Jr. has shakes.
Ouch. Maureen that's a bit harsh now isn't it?
You have seen Ms. Macpherson haven't you?
Maureen, questioning my dignity really isn't the way to get invited to the movie premier. Maybe Elle will be available...
When's the premiere? If Elle's not around I'll be your date...
Wait -- is this how you break the news to Flynn that he won't be your date? Ouch.
Flynn just got himself one of those internets, so I don't think he's hip to the blog. Which means he'll never know he was bumped from the premiere, to which I will be escorting my mom.
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