Thursday, January 26, 2012

Rollers at 7-11

The Slurpees at the 7-11 in downtown manhattan are pretty awful. The machines are seldom cleaned but the flavors often changed, yielding banana flavored Mountain Dew and other terrible tastes. One clerk actually had the nerve to claim the the varieties tasted mixed because the machines leaked into one another, a lie which if true must violate health codes. I also suspect that they dilute the mixes with far too much water or something, as halfway through a cup the Slurpee will be drained white as a cave lobster.

It's a cut-rate joint, in my opinion, and not a benefactor of the Brave New World of faux health food classiness that 7-11 adopted during it's Manhattan invasion. I loath being forced to go there, victim of corporate oppressors holding the sole keys of the Slurpee kingdom.

Actually no, I don't blame the corporation - I curse the lazy, corner cutting owners of that particular store. But last visit I suppose I was a victim of heartless corporation savagery. A hard tale, but I share with you the nightmare story of...

The Buffalo Chicken Roller!

WhooOOOooo. Yuuuucky ghost... I didn't know these rollers existed and was slipped one in place of a tacquito treat. The initial bite was a shock, the sort of surprise a bath house frequentor might experience if a strangers penis lacked its normal crunchy, deep fried shell and instead was confronted with a squishy hot dog. The horrible thing tasted like warmed Vienna sausage but was even more lacking in snap or texture. Or maybe it was like an Oscar Meyer take in a banger.

My first bite had me recoiling in horror, and it's hard to recoil from something in your mouth as it comes along with you - it's like trying to outrun your toupee. And it tasted like Buffalo flavored awful.

My first thought was that I had been delivered an improperly cooked food item and was poisoned. Then the roller vs tacquito conversation replayed in my mind, flashback style but in slow motion horror "you'll shoot your eye out kid" Santa-from-A-Christmas-Story style. Pride forbade my returning the thing so I toughed it out.

And I ate it. I did it, a small victory but never again. Never again.


  1. That photograph makes it look like Cyclops from the X-Men got shrunk down to ant-size and then was buried alive inside your Slurpee cup. Now his only chance is to use his laser-vision to blast his way out.

    I hope that is really what happened.

    Buffalo flavor is uniformly awful. On January 1, 2000 I went to lunch at a Denny's and ate Buffalo Chicken Strips. They seemed like a horrific harbinger of some dark new aeon. But I said, "Fuck, that must have been my imagination. They can't have been that bad." So for dinner on January 1, 2000 (six hours later) I went back to the same Denny's and ordered the same thing, convinced I had been delusional or hungover or something at lunchtime. They tasted even worse! I was astonished that my snap judgments were no longer larded with hyperbole but had become actually reliable memories.

    No, dear reader, the fault lies not in ourselves but in others, specifically, Buffalo, NY. That place has a lot to answer for.

  2. Larded? Is that some kind of fat joke? That's not cool man. What is cool is that you managed to name the fetish which consumes my every waking moment, that of a tiny sized Cyclops in my drink cup.

    Not necessarily in my cup but maybe in my hand or tucked into the band of my underwear. I cut him out of the comic books I have an make paper doll action figures, he's just the right size!