🇬🇧

I was having a perfectly civilised evening.
Picture this: me, tucked comfortably under my warm wobble blanket, watching a delightful documentary about French cheeses—the kind of programme that restores your faith in humanity. Soft cheeses, hard cheeses, smelly cheeses… bliss.

Then the adverts came on.

Normally this is the natural moment to stretch one’s legs, fetch a drink, nibble on something, or perform other urgent human maintenance (such as a discreet dash to the loo). But no. I was far too cosy, cocooned in warmth on this cold evening, and frankly unwilling to move even a single toe.

And that, dear readers, was my fatal mistake.

Because suddenly—without warning—the latest Burger King advert exploded onto the screen. What followed was so repulsive, so stomach-curdling, that I genuinely thought I might need counselling.

There he was: some bloke devouring one of their burgers with the enthusiasm of a starving hyena. I won’t go into graphic detail, for fear you’re reading this while eating, but let’s just say it was a “visual experience” I would not wish on my worst enemy.

If this is the image Burger King has of its customers—slobbering, chomping, oozing—heaven help them. And heaven help us.

One thing is certain:
I shall never, ever set foot in one of their establishments again.
Not even by accident.
Not even if they paid me in gold-plated mozzarella.

In fact, I’m declaring a full family ban. If anyone in my household even mentions Burger King, they will be met with the same stern glare usually reserved for people who put pineapple on pizza.

Absolute disgrace.
Utterly disgusting.
And it ruined my cheese documentary, which is frankly unforgivable.

Return to Mission Control (J2S  Blog)