DanCool What The–?!: The King Has Left The BK Building. But No Need To Grimace. The Calories Are Still Scary.
Anyone up for a Double Stacker?
Well, hello. Mmm… I’m Lovin’ It.
This time we’re gonna have it my way.
No wonder I turned out the way I did.
When the folks at AdWeek and Jenny Craig broke the news this week that Burger King is finally putting their creepy King mascot to sleep, most likely somewhere out back behind the building where they store the cases of fryolator lard, I can’t say I was surprised. Or sad.
Maybe now I can get my 4 piece Tenders without having to stare down that ginormous shiny plastic head hanging over the soda machine. That dude just creeped me out. He was pretty much the high gloss resin version of the Mona Lisa painting, with his glassy eyeballs that followed you wherever you went in the restaurant. His BK Royalness was partially responsible for not only how I turned out, but also that trans fat stain on my favorite Banana pants that never came out in the wash. If it doesn’t come out of wool, does it ever come out of intestines? Seriously? Does it?
I guess the leisure suits up in the BK Castle (I’ve got to assume that if your name has a “King” in it, then you must work in a castle.) thought that their previous cartoon king was too tame or lame or both for all of us internet savvy new age types. So they got rid of the cartoon guy, who was pretty much just a Keebler elf in a crown anyway, and came up with the current King. How this whole thing never inspired a Stephen King movie about a Mardi Gras float that comes to life at night and a big headed paper maché King that rips itself off the support beams and goes careening throughout the crowds, leaving nothing but blood and beads in its path to the nearest Burger King restaurant…well, I’ll never know. Steve-O…call me. We can go 50/50 on the pitch to Universal.
Anyway, the new King just grew odder and skeezier over time, randomly jumping out of closets and onto football fields, scaring the canola oiled bejesus out of girls and boys and grown ups alike, all in the name of selling some carbs and a plastic toy that, thankfully, usually broke before your kid ever got around to swallowing the small parts.
For those of you out there online cruising Craig’s List, you know the King was the kind of guy who watched you sleep. And he was totally a mouth breather. Just saying.
But you could always have it your way, as long as you survived the King’s tackle and could still hold a burger in your good hand.
And now the King is going the way of other creepazoid mascots that I grew up with, and it’s all starting to make sense.
One of my faves was always Count Chocula, who sucked the brown milk out of our cereal bowls with his vampire fangs. How cool was that when you let the brown milk drip out of the corners of your mouth like blood? Mom was not a big fan, but I could have totally taught those Twilight boys a thing or two. Team Chocula all the way.
And of course, there was Grimace who was most famous for uncomfortably hugging children like an oversized, greasier Cookie Monster while they waited in line for those new fangled Happy Meals. What was really cute and educational on Sesame Street got a little awkward when McDonald’s wobbly purple version hit the restaurant scene.
Picture Cookie Monster. But not the cool blue one. Picture Cookie Monster if Oscar’s trash can was filled with nuclear waste instead of garbage, and it spilled on Cookie Monster during a musical alphabet lesson and Cookie Monster grew ten sizes too big and changed color and suddenly acted like he couldn’t see anyone under his full standing sight line. That Cookie Monster.
So Burger King is saying goodbye to the King. They say it’s being done to focus on healthy foods and advertising geared to Moms and blah to the blah. I’m thinking that statement just looked alot better on the press release than coming clean and admitting that the King was just freakin’ creepy and he made way too many little kids pee their pants in way too many Food Courts during a time when way too many Malls have cut back on their housekeeping budgets.
The King is Dead. Long live the King.
Just not in my nightmares any more, please.