SPONJA dropped her third load of sprogs this morning, somewhere between 10 and 11am. There are five altogether — two black ones and three that look like miniature Fezzies. They’re all dead cute and are safe and well. Although I missed their appearance I was in time to see Sponja eat the afterbirth, a sight that will haunt my nightmares for decades to come.
Sorry about the crappy camerawork, but it’s me. Here are some more photos:
They’re not really doing much at the mo — just eating, fighting over nipples and sleeping. Sponja looks knackered but is eating baby food that Ev is spoon-feeding her. More to come soon, or at least as soon as they do something interesting…
THIS is one of those times when you look at what’ s being advertised and think, “Why did no one come up with this before?” I do wonder if the marketing departments of Taco Bell and Doritos invented this or whether they were finally persuaded to produce it when they received the millionth letter from a stoned college student saying, “Dudes, you should, like, totally make, like, a HUGE Dorito and, like, use it for a taco shell.” And with the Taco Bell Doritos Locos Taco, those students’ wishes have come true.
Much like the notorious KFC Double Down, the DLT (as I’m typing it from now on) was initally released only in two places — Fresno and Bakersfield — so scientists could observe its effects on humanity. When it didn’t cause a zombie uprising or the legalization of gay marriage it was inflicted on released to the rest of America. Anyway, I can tell both of you are dying to find out what it’s like so I’ll get on with it.
As you can tell from the top picture, Fezzy was intrigued by the DLT and actually started eating it before I did. After he was pushed off the table I removed the tacos from their completely pointless cardboard sleeves and put them on a plate:
I colour-corrected the photos as much as I could, but colour and texture of the shells still resemble skin shavings from one of the Orange County housewives. The tacos are smaller than I thought they’d be and the shells break pretty easily, but in this pic the top one has been chewed on by Fezzy.
Here’s the filling. It’s just the standard stuff — tomato, lettuce, sour cream (which in mine was only on one end), and beef. Or I should say “beef” as after all this is Taco Bell beef, which contains:
Beef, water, isolated oat product, salt, chili pepper, onion powder, tomato powder, oats (wheat), soy lecithin, sugar, spices, maltodextrin (a polysaccharide that is absorbed as glucose), soybean oil (anti-dusting agent), garlic powder, autolyzed yeast extract, citric acid, caramel color, cocoa powder, silicon dioxide (anti-caking agent), natural flavors, yeast, modified corn starch, natural smoke flavor, salt, sodium phosphate, less than 2% of beef broth, potassium phosphate, and potassium lactate. (Thanks to Gizmodo).
It’s also been alleged that Taco Bell’s beef only contains 36% meat — the rest is tasteless fibres, additives, colouring and filling. If you think 36% is low, the official United States Department of Agriculture guidelines say that in order to be classed as “taco filling” the meat only has to be 40% beef. Welcome to America, where Congress shall make no law restricting the right of giant corporations to make huge profits by selling shit.
And finally to the taste. The taco filling tastes like a regular taco filling but the crispy, cheesy Dorito shell really does add to the flavour. There’s nothing that particularly special about it — it’s just a giant Dorito — but it makes a decent change from the usual soft/crispy shells. The most surprising thing about the DLT is that it took so long to appear in the microwaves of Taco Bell. Would I get another one? Nah.
WE’VE finally caught Sponja, and by “we” I mean “Ev” as I was playing Angry Birds at the time. Whereas we’re happy she’s finally behind bars, the same can’t be said for little Sponja, who has gone apeshit. At one point I did wonder if the bars of the cage would hold and waited for Ev’s hands to be ripped to shreds when she chucked the cat bed and plate of food in. But Sponja soon went from ballistic ball of belligerent fur to a pretty pathetic crying kitty and has now settled down to a life of plaintive meowing.
Of course with us nothing is easy with us and the fact that Sponja is heavily pregnant (again!) leaves us in a bit of a quandary — do we take her to the vet, have her fixed and lose the kittens? Or do we wait til she’s had them and then take her in? If we keep her till she has the kittens, we’ll have to wait til they’re at least six weeks old before we can take them out, and if we let her out of the cage now there’s no way she’ll go within a light-year of it again. So we’re pretty much stuck with a cat in a cage for the foreseeable future.
ONE of Ev’s colleagues told her about the Starling Diner, so today we headed back to our old stomping grounds of Belmont Shore to try it out. We got there around 10am and it was packed out, but at least parking was easy. After waiting 10 minutes for seats we were shown to our table and looked over the menu.
The diner is on the small side but they’ve put plenty of tables inside. Both of us wanted brekkies so I went for the applewood smoked bacon and cheddar scramble with potatoes and baguette slices:
Oooo, lovely. The bacon is mixed in with the scrambled eggs and made a perfect mix — the eggs were light and fluffy and the bacon was great, way better than the microwaved stuff I usually eat. It’s perfectly seasoned and pretty reasonable at $7. I washed it down with a great café au lait. Ev went for the chicken apple sausage scramble:
It’s gourmet sausage, caramelized onions, Monterey Jack cheese, polenta potatoes and sliced baguette. The sausage is amazing — the apple adds a hint of sweetness and the meat is tender and cooked to perfection. Again, the scrambled eggs are excellent, well seasoned and fluffy and the potatoes were hot and filling. Her meal came in at $10.
Our only quibble was the cost, which seemed a little high, but then again we’re so used to eating at the Fantastic Cafe, where you can get a T-bone steak, three eggs, hash browns and toast for $11, that we’re unused to expensive stuff. But the Starling Diner was way above the regular food we usually have, so we’re probably going back at one point. Oh, and the other annoyance was the couple on the table next to use who spent the entire time pissing about on their iPads. Not that they were making any noise, it’s just, well, if you’re going out to brekkies, you could at least bloody talk to each other.
SO THE WALKING DEAD has come to an end, and first off let us be grateful that they’re finally off that sodding farm. Maybe now we can begin to move forward after 13 weeks of talking punctuated by the occasional zombie attack. Although the final episode was pretty good, there were several things that just leaped out at me as being either stupid or nonsensical, but as this is The Walking Dead, “stupid and nonsensical” can just about sum up everything the bloody characters have done for the past 13 weeks. Some thoughts:
Where did that helicopter at the beginning of the episode come from?
Courtesy of AMC
Wooden fences do not a fortification make.
Zombies appear to have developed stealth technology. Nothing else can explain how a huge herd of them get within 30 feet of Rick before he realises that the moaning noises aren’t coming from a nearby porn shoot.
So you’ve been at this farm for a while but you never came up with an escape plan for the inevitable zombie invasion?
Carl: Dad, how do we get out of the barn you led me into which is now surrounded by zombies? Rick: Don’t worry, son, we’ll just pour petrol all over the ground, let the zombies in, climb to the second floor, set the petrol alight and then, um…
Now Lori realises Carl is missing? God knows why, he’s gone out wandering around the zombie-infested area almost every night and she’s never noticed before.
Why would you not keep the RV’s doors locked?
And it’s goodbye minor character whose name I can’t remember and who’s had about three minutes of screentime in the last 13 hours of this show.
Andrea: “I’ll get the guns.” NO SHIT.
Oh, they do have a plan — drive aimlessly around the farm shooting zombies. Er… ok.
So you’ve been at this farm for a while but you never restocked your ammo for the inevitable zombie invasion?
Andrea hands out guns to everyone except T-Dog, so he has to get his own.
Wow, Kia SUVs sure do stick to grass. As, apparently, do 1950s Ford trucks and Harley-Davidsons.
Courtesy of AMC
Farm owner Hershel, seen here on the right wielding his magical limitless ammo shotgun, must have fired about 200 rounds without having to reload. A comment on The AV Club’s review sums it up best: “Player “HeRsHeL6969” has unlocked UNLIMITED AMMO CHEAT.” Awesome.
Every single shot is a kill. Seal Team 6 couldn’t be more accurate.
Carol’s going to die! Carol’s going to die! Shit, she survived.
So you’ve been at this farm for a while but you never thought to find some walkie-talkies so you could communicate during the inevitable zombie invasion?
Another minor character bites it, or to be more accurate, is bitten. I think she’s Otis’s widow but as she’s been onscreen for about 5 minutes during the whole season I can’t remember.
T-DOG SPEAKS!! (T-Dog is the only black character. He cut his arm badly in the first episode of the second series, and basically has barely been heard or seen since.)
Are any of them going to a) run out of ammo or b) miss? I realise I’m supposed to suspend my disbelief for this show because it’s got zombies in it, but the zombies are in the real world and so it’s not like the rules have changed.
Andrea legs it into the forest. That’s an intelligent move right there.
And T-Dog ends up driving two white women around. Amazing.
So you’ve been at this farm for a while but you never thought to make sure the vehicles were filled with petrol so you could escape during the inevitable zombie invasion?
Rick finally tells the big secret most viewers had guessed at the end of the first series — the zombie infection is in all the survivors, so just dying of natural causes means you’re coming back.
DEAR British Broadcasting Corporation, BBC America, International Rugby Board and RBS Six Nations: FUCK YOU.
My country is playing for the Grand Slam today. It’s the biggest game since our World Cup semi-final in October last year. And I can’t listen to it. Why? Because your fucking lawyers have decided that it can’t be broadcast in America. Why not? I listened to the 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2010 and 2011 Six Nations matches (I was there for the 2008 Grand Slam match) so why, in 2012, have things been changed?
And could you at least give us some warning? Why tease me by broadcasting the build-up to the game then suddenly cut to some posh tart informing me that due to “international rights management” I can’t listen to it? So now I’m following the text updates on The Guardian’s site. I know I could follow them on the RBS or BBC sites, but why would I want to do that after you shafted me?
Part of the fun of listening to the games on BBC Radio Wales is that it’s almost like being there; the roars and singing of the crowd, the hysterically funny bias of the commentators, the tension as the teams battle it out on the pitch. And all of that’s been lost to me now.
Oh, and an extra fuck you to BBC America: why are you showing the England-Ireland game today and not the bloody Grand Slam match? Did no one in your organisation look at the table last week and think, “Hey, it looks like Wales might win the Grand Slam, let’s switch to that one because after all, it’s only the biggest game of the tournament.” I thought you sucked arse before this, BBC America, but congratulations on convincing me that you suck balls, too.
FOR the past seven weeks I’ve been watching a TV show called The River. Like many, I was interested in its premise: Dr. Emmet Cole, host of the nature show Undiscovered Country, goes missing in the Amazon. Six months later (this figure will become very important) the company that broadcasts his show offers to pay for a rescue mission, but with one condition — everything has to be filmed so the channel can show the results. The rescuers are Cole’s wife Tess; her son Lincoln; Cole’s friend and Undiscovered Country producer Clark Quietly; Magus mechanic Emilio Valenzuela and his daughter Jahel; Lena Landry, daughter of cameraman Russ Landry who vanished with Cole; Captain Kurt Bryndilson, the spooky German head of the expedition who’s a furtive bugger for reasons that aren’t clear until episode seven; and AJ, the cameraman. There is another cameraman but he gets killed in the first episode and anyway I can’t remember his name.
Courtesy of ABC
Anyway, lots of mysterious things have been happening to our erstwhile rescuers while heading up the Amazon. Jahel, the ship mechanic’s daughter, becomes possessed by Cole’s spirit while wearing some wonderfully tight T-shirts; the crew discover a place where hundreds of dolls are hung from trees; the crew goes blind; they find one of Cole’s original cameramen, who’s been cursed to hang from a tree forever; and they encounter another boat full of by ghosts. But they keep going, shrugging off experiences that would leave anyone not in a TV drama seeking psychiatric help.
Along the way they uncover clues to Cole’s fate and it doesn’t take long for it to become obvious that he’s gone a bit Kurtz, albeit with a supernatural twist. The crew find a bag full of videotapes from Cole’s journey, videotapes that are amazingly still playable after spending six months in the jungle. From these it turns out that Cole is searching for what he calls The Source, which is apparently a tribe that can heal or cure absolutely anything. We also see how Cole is abandoned by Rabbit, one of his camera crew, and left to fend for himself after breaking his ankle. At one point he contemplates killing his dog Salsa for food, but can’t go through with it. He’s eventually found by a tribe that leaves him at the gates to some kind of compound.
Courtesy of ABC
OK, stop the clock. You’re alone, ill, injured, delirious, dehydrated, starving to the point of seriously considering eating your dog, and yet you still take the time to set up small cameras to record your words and actions. Bollocks. We even see Cole holding a knife to Salsa’s throat in a scene that’s not only not necessary, it’s also ridiculous in the context of what’s happening; would you honestly want to video such a scene? This is where the found footage idea falls apart, in moments when there’s no sodding point to creating any footage.
In fact, the whole “found footage” thing hasn’t worked from the start. The biggest problem is the oldest one with this trope: at what point does the guy holding the camera think “sod this for a game of soldiers”, drops it and runs? So far one cameraman has been killed (amazingly for a horror show it wasn’t the black guy) and one was almost buried alive. But the show is produced by the bloke who made the Paranormal Activity movies and therefore lives in a universe where people happily lug professional-level hi-def cameras (plus tapes and batteries and lights) through the Amazon jungle. I guess ABC is hoping for a “documentary” feel to the show but it’s really just a gimmick. The River wouldn’t have lost anything, and might actually have gained some points, if it was just shot like a normal telly drama.
Courtesy of ABC
The found footage idea is destroyed in the first (or maybe the second) episode. The crew are on deck of the Magus, the boat on which they’re travelling the Amazon. It’s night, they’re attacked, and one of the cameramen is lifted up and carried away by something. The trouble is we see him being picked up and carried through the air from the viewpoint of his own camera — which means that at some point in the future, that camera is found and the footage edited into the final programme. As we have no idea where he ended up we’re left having to surmise that someone either stumbled upon his body or actually set out through the world’s most impenetrable jungle in order to find him. It would have been much more realistic for his camera to fall in the river and his death be filmed by one of the others, but no. It’s sad because it really makes you realise this is a TV show, not a documentary, and the addition of dramatic music to every scene doesn’t help dispel the notion that you’re just watching a bunch of actors instead of real people. Neither do the plot holes.
Courtesy of ABC
Take Tuesday’s episode, the penultimate one. The crew find and enter the compound where Cole was dropped off and are confronted by blood and mayhem, a freezer full of rotting dead people, zombies, watch footage (there are apparently more video cameras in the Amazon than in the entire San Fernando Valley) that shows the zombies being created by the release of a retro-virus, discover Cole in a cocoon(!), are chased by said zombies, and barely make it back to the boat.
They also find Rabbit wandering around the compound looking dazed, confused and paranoid, which isn’t surprising as she’s managed to survive six months living in a zombie-infested hellhole. The crew ask her where Cole is and she repli — WAIT A MINUTE, SHE’S JUST SURVIVED SIX MONTHS LIVING IN A COMPOUND THAT’S INFESTED BY ZOMBIES? WHAT DID SHE EAT AND DRINK? WHERE DID SHE HIDE? It’s made obvious that there’s no power and there are plates of maggot-infested food in the kitchen, so how did she make it? No explanation is given; the crew just lets her tag along with them, as she answers their questions with babbled non sequiturs while looking jumpier than a Pomona crack whore on a dry spell. This isn’t a plot hole, it’s a plot Grand Canyon.
Courtesy of ABC
But once back on the boat no one gets to sit Rabbit down and ask her about her remarkable survival skills (my own theory is that she escaped from The Walking Deadonly to end up in an even shittier show) because [SPOILER ALERT, FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH] two zombies get on board the Magus. How this happened is beyond me as they were very obviously behind our fleeing heroes, but they proceed to take out Rabbit before attacking the others. Kurt shoots one dead, who turns out to be his fiancée, and the other is shot by Cole, whose time spent in a cocoon(!) obviously hasn’t hampered his skills in aiming an M16 one-handed while firing from the hip. And there the episode ends, with only one to go that will explain what’s been going and set up a possible second series*.
Oh, and leaving Salsa behind? Fuck you, Tess.
I want to like The River, I really do. But like The Walking Dead there’s just too much wrong with it to completely suspend disbelief or, for that matter, to give much of a toss about the characters. As usual in this type of show they act smart/dumb depending on the requirements of the script, not what’s going on around them. There are waaaaay too many cameras around — the Magus is positively bristling with them — and they always manage to capture dramatic moments and perfect close-ups. There’s no real consistency to the supernatural events the crew encounter; sometimes it’s ghosts, sometimes it’s a physical manifestation of something, sometimes it’s demons and now it appears to be bloody zombies. Scares are scattered among long periods of nothing. The producers just seemed to chuck everything they could think of in there in the hope that some of it would stick. But most of all there just isn’t enough material for an eight-part drama. It would have been far better as a three-part drama, or even a 90-minute telly movie. But it would have been much, much better off dumping the stupid found footage crap.
One more thing: Jahel is Brazilian. Brazil was a Portuguese colony. So why does Jahel speak Spanish? Aaarrggh!
THERE’S no other explanation for his recent behaviour. Personally, I think he knows we’re taking him in to have his knackers off next week and is probing us for weaknesses so he can either do away with us and make it look like an accident, or wait til nighttime and massacre us in our sleep.
Take his latest ploy, the leg-grab. Basically, I walk towards/past/within 30 feet of Fezzy and he rears up and makes a grab for whichever leg is closest to him. There’s too much wrong with that, you might think — BUT he only does it first thing in the morning or last thing at night, i.e. when I’m tired and not seeing too well. In other words, he’s trying to get me to fall over and “accidentally” crack my skull open on the washing machine/dressing table/desk/floor, after which he’ll probably drink some of my blood and then go back to sleep on the bed.
Then there’s his habit of sleeping on me. Not next to me, or near me, but on me. The number of times I’ve woken to discover 5lbs of kitten crushing my chest and windpipe are innumerable and I’m wondering how long it’ll be before I wake up with him blocking my nose and mouth. Or, more to the point, don’t wake up.
Here’s Fezzy getting some boob time with Ev. What she doesn’t realise is that he’s just lulling her into a sense of false security so she’ll be relaxed when he carries out his attack. And that contented purring noise she can hear? It’s a power drill.
And then there’s his attitude to the litter box. He digs very deep holes before having a crap (ARE YOU READING THIS, EMRIC?) and I think he’s just practicing for when he has to dig holes to hide our bodies.
We rescued Fezzy when he was three weeks old and, because of that, as far as he’s concerned I’m his mum. I’m his mum when it comes to snuggles, I’m his mum when it comes to feeding him, I’m his mum when he wants something and I’m his mum when it comes to grooming.
Yes, grooming. Fezzy will climb on me and lick around the corners of my mouth, much to Ev’s amusement. I don’t know why he does it — I guess he thinks I’m another cat or something. Nevertheless, I firmly believe that he’s just doing it so I’ll get used to it and won’t have time to react when he unhinges his lower jaw and bites my head off in one go.
This is why I’m looking forward to dropping him off at the vet’s on Monday. When he returns he’ll be too busy getting fat and stupid like Emric and Iestyn to even remember to try and kill us. At least, I hope that’s what happens…
NOW that Borders has winged its way to the great bankruptcy court in the sky, I’m left with Barnes and Noble as my primary source for buying books. It may come as a surprise that I don’t really like going to a big store that’s crammed with my favourite things, but B&N is really starting to get on my nerves for several reasons…
The rewards card: It costs $25 for a year and entitles you to 10% off the price of whatever you’re buying. Sounds good until you realise you have to spend $250 just to get your $25 back. Apart from that, however, there’s the constant irritant of going to the counter to pay and having this exchange:
[I put books on counter]
Assistant: “Your total will be $12. Do you have a membership card that will save you 10% on this purchase?”
Me: “No.”
Assistant: “Would you like to sign up for one?”
Me: “No.”
Assistant: “Do we have your email address so we can send you money-off coupons?”
Me: “No.” (Actually I do, and have done for about a year, but I have yet to receive any of these mythical coupons. Another reason I lament Borders’ passing is that they regularly sent me coupons worth 40% off the cost of a book, sometimes you’d get handed 25% off coupons with your receipt, their rewards card was free, and they didn’t have shelves devoted to effing Lego — see later.)
Assistant: “Would you like to sign up for them?”
Me: “No.”
At some stores — notably the one at the Long Beach Town Center — the assistant’s tone is usually either icy or dismissive by the end of this conversation. Fuck you if my reluctance to get ripped off means you get a bollocking off your supervisor for not flogging enough cards. No wonder the people who came up with this t-shirt are selling so many.
The entrance: I can’t remember what used to be the first thing you saw when entering a Barnes & Noble — I’m guessing it was books — but now it’s a sodding great display for the Nook, their e-book reader. And just to the left of the Nook display, where there used to be more books, is now a display stand for Nook accessories like covers, charging cables, stands, and more covers. I realise that e-books are the way of the future for several reasons, not least the boon to the environment that comes from constructing a device from highly toxic materials as opposed to a simple paper object made from sustainable trees, but, B&N, do you have to make your contempt for books so clear?
The toyshop: I’ve noticed in the past few months that the amount of toys and other crap being sold at B&N stores has escalated to the point that it’s sometimes difficult to tell if you’re in a bookshop or a Toys R Us. Why they feel the need to cram the shelves with Star Wars Lego, Hello Kitty figurines and expensive designer toy cars is beyond me, unless they’ve realised that the only people who can afford their prices are the ones who think $30 is a reasonable price to pay for three toy cars.
The travel section: I’m a fan of travel writing. Jan Morris, Paul Theroux, Simon Winchester, Sara Wheeler, HV Morton, Bill Bryson and others have opened up new worlds and taken me on adventures I’ll never have (unless Ev fancies walking around the coastline of Britain, or spending a year in Antarctica). But now B&N has reduced the size of the travel section, at least in the stores I go to. Wait, let me rephrase that: they’ve reduced the size of the travel writing section while boosting the size of the travel advice section. In other words, you can now peruse 26 books on what to do in Italy, but good luck finding a book that’ll tell you what it’s like to live there.
Teen/Young Adult (there’s a difference?): Thanks to the fat stupid middle-aged women and fat stupid teenage girls who made the Twilight series such a success, B&N has boosted the size of its teen/young adult section so in some stores it’s bigger than the history section. WTF? Now, thanks to the way many stores are arranged, not only do you have to negotiate the aisles full of bloody emo girls reading the latest bunch of wank starring sparkly vampires and useless werewolves on the way to the mystery section, you also look like some weird pervert as you scan the shelves desperately hoping you’ll spot the latest Tiffany Aching book before someone puts you on a sex offenders’ register.
JACK IN THE BOX has come up with a new and, dare I say, delicious way to kill off its customers — the Bacon Milkshake. Alerted to its presence by our photo editor, I had to spend two days in excruciating suspense until I got hold of one last night. But it’s spent the night in the freezer as even I am not going to consume a 773-calorie concoction at 10pm.
I thought I’d do another video review for this one as a) I haven’t done one since the sour candy and b) apparently that video thoroughly entertained my cousin in London and who am I to deny him a good laugh?
So, with the Flip balanced precariously on a couple of books and my 300mm lens, I set about wiping out any hope of making it past 45. Oh, I’m eating it with a spoon as, like all fast-food milkshakes, it’s denser than a Premiership footballer.
Dear God, I look and sound like an aged Muppet. Anyway, the bloody batteries ran out and by the time I’d found new ones the shake had melted into a cupfull of goo so I decided to give up on the video bit.
To be honest the milkshake was very good. The bacon flavour is smoky and not at all artificial (unlike some things I could mention — I really wish I’d videoed that one) and doesn’t overwhelm the sweetness or the creaminess. Obviously after spending 14 hours in our fridge and freezer it wasn’t going to be in the best of conditions — the centre had melted into a liquid puddle contained within a frozen shell — so I might end up redoing the video with a fresh one, and fresh batteries for the Flip.
The shake has been all over the media, which is precisely what Jack In The Box intended. There’s really no other reason to release such a ridiculous product on the public. I realise that bacon is the new black but was anyone really screaming out for such a foodstuff? Most news outlets and blogs have concentrated on its inherent unhealthiness — a whopping 773 calories, 40 grams of fat, 319 grams of salt and 75 grams of sugar in the 16oz version. If you feel like supersizing to the 24oz one it’s almost 1100 calories. Nevertheless, Jack In The Box know that although no one was actually asking for this to be made, tens of thousands of people aren’t going to say no when given the chance of buying one.
Much like record companies, fast food corporations seem to be continually on the lookout for the next big thing, and their products are every bit as artificial as Sony’s or EMI’s. It’s a touch ironic that for all the talk of them looking to make their meals healthier to appeal to a more health-conscious public, they then come out with this milkshake, or the Double Down, the Cheesy Bacon Bowl or the Bacon Maple Sundae (which, in the interests of full disclosure, was bloody awesome).
Jack In The Box has an ad blitz going on now for their Marry Bacon campaign which is designed to get you to buy the new BLT Cheeseburger Combo and the bacon milkshake. You know, as if I’d need persuading to buy a BLT cheeseburger. But the milkshake is too much even for me — too much fat, sugar and too many calories. As good as it tastes I don’t want to try it again.
