Editor’s note: SmellyPirate says goodbye by sharing one of his favorite articles from the SG archives.  Where we’re going, we don’t need buns.

A few weeks ago, purveyor of greasy fare Kentucky Fried Chicken unleashed its latest attempt to fast-track consumers to early graves: the Double Down sandwich.  The chain restaurant’s newest fat bomb arrived in my lap in the form of two pieces of bacon, two slices of cheese and the Colonel’s secret sauce, all wedged between two breaded, white-meat chicken fillets. KFC has bucked fast-food norms with this caloric beast by ditching the carb-heavy buns altogether.

The Double Down sandwich is, admittedly, quite delicious. Just be prepared to ingest 540 calories, 32 grams of fat and 1,380 milligrams of sodium. Yikes!

What can I say about this … this … monstrosity?  If I was 17 years old, this would be the kind of sandwich that I would buy at least three times a week.  I mean, who really wants to bother with hamburger buns? Merely a load of empty calories.  And yet, as I ate the Double Down, I felt a peculiar sense of gluttonous guilt.  It was, interestingly enough, akin to the feeling I get as a 31-year-old gamer on a five-hour marathon, neglecting family, friends and bodily functions.

And then I realized that the only time in my adult life that I have been able to gorge on video games without being overwrought with self-loathing and guilt was Oct. 17, 2009.  Extra Life transformed a mindless orgy of junk food and video games into a benevolent act of defiance against pediatric cancer.

So, KFC (or Doc) convince me that eating this sandwich will somehow heal sick children, resurrect dead kittens or facilitate the replacement of DeathByWaffle’s nipples, and I will eat it as much as my colon will allow.  Otherwise, it is simply too much of a caloric indulgence to justify repeated consumption.

Verdict: rental