I backed away slowly from the woman. She

I backed away slowly from the woman. She was really starting to freaking me out. Despite what pop songs will tell you, "Shut up and dance with me" is not an acceptable pick-up line

in the army, let me tell you. I said to the woman, "Look there's the Colonel!" When she looked I grabbed my cheeseburger and ran like a bat out of hell.

It looked like there was nowhere to eat my McDonald's burger in peace. Everywhere I went, people were loyal only to the Kentucky-Frying Colonel. I ducked into an alleyway as

I tried to eat my BigMac. That's where I ran into a true KFC disciple: a hobo wearing a bow tie, KFC bucket on his head and KFC box shoes. He knocked the burger from my hand and

I heard a grunt as he shoved it into an orifice. Tears welled up in my eyes, but the KFC hobo was impervious to natural feeling. Then he mashed my fries with his KFC box shoes

doing the two step, then the Charleston. I appreciated it. I liked my potatoes completely pulverized, even after being fried. The KFC hobo, the spitting image of Colonel Sanders,

grinned as he scooped the mashed fried potatoes into a KFC bucket and presented it to me as if it were a sacred object. I accepted the smushed mess and stuffed my face with relish.

Pieces of chicken slid down my face as I grinned with with content. "You know, we should make an ice-cream flavour out of this."