Mirror Mirror

The room was small, perhaps eight feet square, large enough to fit a bed, a wash basin with mirror, and a small window. He entered quietly, closing the door behind him and walking to the bed to place his bag neatly at the foot of the small, four poster bed frame. Standing, scanning the room, he spotted the window and walked to it drawing the curtains back ever so slightly and peering out on the street below. The man stood for a bit, watching the hustle and bustle of mid afternoon commerce flow up and down the street. After a few minutes, the man stepped back from the window, allowing the curtain to drop back across the window and approached the mirror. He was a slight man, not sickly thin, but not muscular or toned in any particular way. His straight brown hair fell neatly about his face, framing his ordinary looking face well, and a neatly trimmed mustache hung above his thin lips.

The man's eyes looked tired, stressed, and the dark bags under them told of recent sleepless nights. The man smoothed his mustache and turned away, sitting on the bed lightly, testing the mattress’s softness. After a moment, the mattress gained the man's slight approval, and he again stood, satisfied with his lodgings, and exited the room as softly as he had come, locking the door behind him.

As night fell the man stumbled up the stairs, his quiet demeanor earlier in the day had faded away, clouded by alcohol from the bar across the street. The man stumbled to a door, pushed the key into the lock forcefully and tried to turn the key, but with no success. A flash of anger creased his mind and he raised his boot and gave the door a solid kick and cursed quite loudly at it, as though in the man's mind this would open the door better than the key. The door suddenly flew open, and an older gentleman with thinning gray hair and a portly, angry face, stepped into the door way. Before words could be spoken, the man drunkenly stumbled away with the door slamming behind him, and the older gentleman cursing from behind the closed and locked door. The man found his room, and this time stumbled in with success. He fell to his bed and after a moment, staggered up and moved to the mirror.

The man studied his face again, flushed with drunkenness. His skin was drawn, his eyes sunken and darker than earlier, and bloodshot a bright red. The man stared, and in the soft, flickering light of the lantern that hung in the room, remarked to himself how much his face resembled a skull, then moved closer to the mirror, looking his reflection in the eye. The man stared for a moment, then mouthed her name, eyes welling with tears as he did so. The man's face dropped and his chin buried itself into his chest as large, angry tears streamed down his face and silent sobs wracked his body. He looked back up, and saw his reflection still staring at him, thin lips curved into a frown, eyes hard and unfeeling piercing into him.

The man stared at his reflection, sobs still shaking him, and through the sobs and tears asked "What do you want"? The man's reflection stared hard, unmoved, silent. The man backed up, throwing his arms out in disgust and frustration. "What do you want"?! he said, this time louder. The reflection again responded with it's piercing glare and silence. The man wiped his face, anger replacing his previous grief, and approached the mirror with a closed fist, intent now on destroying the reflection that tormented him so. As he neared, the gaze from the his reflection locked eyes with the man, and the man's reflection mouthed a single, slow word: "Murderer". The man stopped, almost as if he had hit an invisible barrier, his hand dropped and released the fist it held and landed at his side. The man's legs gave way and he dropped to his knees, eyes still locked with his reflection.

Again wracked by sobs, this time angry, the man pointed to the mirror and began to choke out words, spitting them out like venom between sobs. "She made me. She forced me. She....She.....I had no choice"! His voice raising with each word until he was yelling and shaking with rage and grief. His reflection was unmoved by the display, still frowning, gazing, judging. The man stood again, enraged, and opening his mouth to let loose a tearful, rage filled attack on his reflection, he stopped short as a knock at the door sounded. The mans rage turned to panic as he wondered who it was, and more importantly what they had heard. He dried his eyes as he glanced at the door, chancing a glance back to the mirror and realizing his specter was gone and his reflection once again belonged to himself.

Composing himself as much as a drunk man can, he moved to the door and opened it quickly. He hadn't intended to open the door that quickly, but between the alcohol and his tormentor, he was not currently in as much control as he would like to think. At the door stood a woman, holding several towels and smiling with perfect teeth at him. She stood as tall as him on her high heels. Her hair, a dark auburn, was done in curls bunched up in a loose bun behind her head, some of the curls escaping to drape around her shoulders. Her eyes were large and brown, filled with a false innocence and allure. As he studied her, she walked slightly in, begging his pardon and asking for permission to enter as she proceeded to enter the room regardless, as if to say that she didn't actually want or care about his permission.

The man stood, watching as she made her way to the wash basin and mirror and placed the towels gingerly under the basin. She bent at the waist showing her ample behind through her loose black dress as she did. The man could not help himself, and looked on, half in shock of having a woman so forcefully enter his room, and half in admiration of her exceptional beauty. She stood again without him noticing, cocking her head to the side and smiling at him. The man realized he was still staring, and turned away, flushing even more red in the face than before. She approached him, placing her hand softly on his face. The man's mind reeled, this woman, was so much like his beloved, so kind, so beautiful, dare he look into those eyes? Dare he embrace her back?

Her hand fell from his face and feeling the warmth leave his cheek he turned and caught her gaze, full of that false innocence and lust, he felt her lift his hand and slide it to her bosom. His eyes flicked down to her ample chest, and back to her gaze as he felt her move his hand slowly into her dress. He could no longer take it. He embraced her, kissing her and pulling her close to him as he moved her towards his bed. The man felt her return his kiss, felt her move her hand down, and with a thrill, he felt his body fall with hers onto the bed. The man released from her kiss, and before he knew what he was saying, said "Emily". The girl smiled with those perfect teeth, and her eyes twinkled and said "Oh honey, my name's Jasmine, but for twenty dollars it can be Emily".

The man stiffened, staring blankly into Jasmine's eyes, his hands moved up her body. Jasmine smiled, but the sparkle and innocence were gone from her eyes. "Honey, money first, then you can touch however you may well please" she said, her tone moving to one experienced with dealing with forceful men. The mans hands slid still, slowly up, and Jasmines smile turned to a frown as he reached her neck with both hands, and gripped firmly. "Now that kind of thing will cost..." Jasmine's voice cut off as the mans hands tightened around her neck, choking off her breath. The look in her eyes turned to panic as the man tightened his grip more and began shaking her violently, screaming "You are not my beloved! You are not Emily! You whore! You tricked me! You tricked me into being unfaithful"!

Jasmine's panic increased, tears began streaming down her face as he shook and choked her violently. Jasmine tried to take a breath, gasp, and when she couldn't her panic increased. Spots were appearing in her vision, and black edges began to fade around his rage filled face. The man screamed and spat, shaking her more and more. Jasmine tried to gather her strength and fight back some how, but her arms would not respond, her legs were dead, and soon her world was black and cold. The man sat, squatted over her limp figure, and eyes widening with realization, released her neck quickly and jumped back from the bed, he looked about the small room frantically, and then saw the mirror. The man's reflection stood, frowning deeply, thin lips pursed, brow furrowed and pointing at the man.

The reflection screamed out silently, "murderer". The man shook his head, mouth agape, he backed away slowly from the mirror. The reflection dropped his hand, face still filled with rage, and seemed to reach into the nothingness to his left, pulling out a beautiful young girl with long, curled, dark auburn hair, wide, large brown eyes and full lips. Her face wore a sad, accusatory look upon it, and as the man saw her, he slowly stepped forward, hand reaching out slowly to the mirror. The man's reflection watched coldly as the man approached, until the mans hand was touching the glass of the mirror. Just as his fingers touched the figure of the girl, the man whispered "Emily" and tears flowed down his face again. The girl, Emily, with a sadness so deep, looked at the man and mouthed "Why"?

The man recoiled his hand, stepping back a half step as if he had been shocked by electricity with the question. "You...You made me" he stammered softly. "You dishonored me! Shamed me! You chose him! You chose another when you knew......You KNEW I was the right man"! The mans quiet response had grown into a frantic yell. Emily's figure stood next to the mans reflection, her sadness deepening at his excuses. The man pointed a finger, screaming "I had to do it! You are mine! No other man is worthy of you!" the man ranted. Suddenly the man's reflection, gaze still cold and piercing, slid behind Emily, and in a fluid movement, produced a large knife and pulling her head back, drew it across her exposed throat, cutting deeply and swiftly.

Emily's eyes widened with terror and pain, and as blood poured down her neck and chest she fell, slumped into a heap at the feet of the man's reflection, out of view. The man's reflection pointed to where Emily had fallen, then reached down, moving smoothly and quickly with his knife, and pulled up the disembodied head of Emily, her eyes sad, hurt, and glazed with death. The man felt vomit rise in his throat as he stared at his beloved's head, swinging gently in his reflections angry grip. The man could no longer bear it, he raced forward and hand stretched out and balled into a fist, aimed for his reflection, bent on his reflection’s destruction. As the man's hand neared the glass of the mirror, the headless body of Emily lurched up from below where it had fallen, and gripped the mans wrist.

Emily's cold, dead fingers dug into his wrist, and the man's momentum was too much to reverse. The man's reflection stood laughing, as the man's hand entered the mirror, causing ripples like a stone into water rather than a shatter of glass. The cold dead fingers of Emily dug further into the man's skin, pushing until the skin broke, digging into muscle and tendons, ripping them apart and finally finding the arteries in the mans wrist. Emily's fingers twisted around the man's arteries, and pulled hard.

Jasmine awoke to a horrid screaming. Her head was pounding, her throat was sore and bruised and she struggled to catch her breath. Jasmine’s vision was still spotty and wavering, but as she regained her bearings in the room, she saw the man that had assaulted her sitting in a slumped pile on the floor. She stood, unsteady at first, but able to move slowly around. Curious as to what the man was doing, she moved around towards the door, but peering around the man to catch a glimpse of his activities. As the angle bettered, she saw him tearing at his own wrist, blood pouring onto the floor in rhythmic spurts and pieces of flesh, muscle, and tendon spread around the man in the pool of rapidly growing blood. Jasmine gasped, covering her mouth and looked away.

As Jasmine averted her gaze, she caught a glimpse of the mirror, and for just a moment, there stood a girl who did not look all that dissimilar from herself, smiling brightly and watching the man slowly fall into the pool of his own blood. As the man fell, the girl faded slowly, smile as bright as ever.

Let's Wear Purple!

Let’s wear purple for the fallen boys, who couldn’t stand up to the mean, big, bad, bullies. Let’s honor and revere their decision to end their lives in a cowardly display of selfishness and self pity. Let us raise a cup to their act of self termination and look down upon those evil, deplorable specters that haunted their lives. Let us teach our young children that it’s ok to falter under pressure, and to point blame at others for your own cowardly, selfish actions. Let us paint their tormentors as evil, heartless people who wished nothing but harm to any and all around them. Let us pin all blame and point all fingers to the tormentors direction, for surely it was they that pulled the trigger, tied the rope, slipped the pills, or administered the slashes.

Let’s raise a cup to those poor, hurt boys, who on April the fourth, after being pushed, bullied, and tormented took weaponry to school and ended so many lives, the lives of those who looked down on them, and were ultimately driven to end their own, miserable existence, for surely all those who are bullied and take extreme measures to escape should be honored.

I say no.

I say wear purple for the rights of all humans, men and women, for all life styles and choices. That is what makes the ideals that were set forth by the founding fathers so potent, even hundreds of years after they were first conceived. I say we raise those among us who, despite adversity and desperation, stood and refused to be broken, we honor them. Whether homosexual, heterosexual, transsexual, bisexual, white, black, yellow, and every color between, I say we call dishonor and weakness what it is, and strength and determination should in their place be honored.

I disagree with the actions of the so called “bullies” whatever it is that they had enacted to so dishearten others. I do not, however, disagree on the basis that they people who ultimately took such severe action were gay. I disagree on the basis that as humans, do we not all deserve the basic rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? By demeaning another, we remove those unalienable rights, and by taking one’s own life, you prove you did not deserve those rights by refusing to use and appreciate them.

Wear purple, or don’t, for whatever reason you find fitting for you, after all, that is your right to have your opinion and mind set. I’m for the rights of humans, no matter what or who they may be, but I make a stand for those who will use and appreciate those rights, not those who, in times of adversity, laid down and gave up.

The Call That Changed The World

It was a regular day, full of regular shit, wake up, down a Monster Java energy drink, along with my pain meds, rush out the door for work. At work, follow the usual schedule, and at lunch hit up the Cafe, Natures Table, for a double bacon cheeseburger and an order of chili cheese fries. They have a reputation at Natures table for having a strange pricing scheme, anything you'd think should be four, maybe five bucks with tax, say a sandwich, is usually seven bucks. Something like a double bacon cheeseburger with chili cheese fries? Seven bucks, plus tax. The whole time the owner, Jeremy I think his name is, gives you this cheesy grin if he's in a good mood and is busy explaining how he got a new card reader for debit and credit transactions. He made my food, I pay attention at the bare minimum, get my card back, decline the receipt, and walk away with my spoils to the comfy couch where I chow down. Another couple of the pain meds, washed down with some Mt. Dew.

Off work, finally, and the ride home goes quickly. I arrive inside my apartment, all nice and quiet, and my stomach tells me "hey, you know I'm not hungry or anything, but if you want to feed me, well I'm not gonna complain." I comply with it's wishes, break out a "Home Style Bake" meal in a box, throw it together, and consume. I've read the box before, it says something about how it feeds a family, and I just giggle at that, as I finish licking the bowl clean. A couple more pain meds, and as the zonked out feeling sinks in I find my usual place on the couch, and zone into the T.V. and Facebook. Another usual day, in an other wise usual week, in an otherwise usual month. Facebook has the usual cascade of crap on it. Updates about shit I couldn't care less about, but comment on anyway. In doing this I'm removed from the thought of just how miserable and depressed I am. My little brother pops up, we have the usual talk about loathing humanity, and joke a few times. This is our custom, we never go right into the serious stuff, always small talk around for a bit, then get to business. He goes into how my leg is doing. I mention as usual, it hurts, and I'm annoyed by it. Jax says mom wants him to talk about my health. I know what this translates to: Mom, Paige and he are all worried about me. They don't want me to turn into one of those people you see on peopleofwalmart.com in the special little scooter that looks about ready to fall apart if for nothing else, out of spite. I think, ah, my adopted family, what would I do without them.

About a month ago, the weather changed. As is the usual, when the weather changes, my leg goes nuts because of an old injury. When I was 9, I was trying to climb a tree with the help of my friends dad. He had my foot in his hands, and about 3 feet up the tree, my fear of heights woke up and went into immediate red alert. After I asked to get down, my friends dad says he'll let me go. The usual process involves a graceful drop that ends in me walking away with a tad bit of shame, but otherwise uninjured. The roots of the tree seemed to have a sense of revenge, being that I didn't want to climb, and caught my foot as I contacted the ground, bending my left foot to the left, and putting the full brunt of the landing on my ankle. One shattered ankle, split tibia, dislocated knee, shredded muscles, torn achilles tendon, and massive nerve damage later, I have some awesome pain in my leg every so often. At first I ignored the pain, like I usually do, and figured it'd go away soon, like it usually does after I limp for a few days. A week later, the pains worse than it's ever been, and the doctor thinks my nerves are fried and was so kind as to provide some pain meds to take the edge off. This is what led to the conversation with my little brother.

Together, myself and my brother worked out a plan. Cut down carbs to a minimum, protein upped, and portion control. We agree to go shopping that Friday after we're off work. He has me load up on veggies, fruit, leafy stuff, chicken, tuna, turkey. No boxed meals, no pasta, no mass amounts of junk food and Totino's pizza. I'm game, I want the change and I really love the idea of getting into a healthier lifestyle. What I love even more is the thought that maybe, just maybe, by getting the weight off, and being a tad healthy that I won't be on these pills the rest of my days, and even better be the one taking the pictures at Wal-Mart, instead of being the feature on the front page of a degrading web site.

I wake up, drink a black cup of coffee, along with chowing down a single egg, wrapped in a whole wheat tortilla. A couple of the pain meds, still a necessary evil, washed down with a glass of water. I pack lunch, a pack of tuna, this ones sweet and spicy, some lettuce, sliced tomato and a bit of shredded cheese. I walk out the door and head to work. I feel better. It's been a week since I started the change, and I feel lighter, happier, and more rested. It's still a long way to go, but when I walk into the mall, and realize I really want one of those super salty, buttered up pretzels with extra nacho cheese, but I don't really need it and I'd rather have my cup of peaches that I have waiting for me at home, I feel accomplished. When I'm offered Chinese take out, pizza, or my old friend, the double bacon cheese burger, I think of how I was feeling just a week ago, and decide that it feels a million times better to have my tuna wrapped up in my whole wheat tortilla.

So here's to you, Jax, Mom, Paige, Momma, and every one at work who has helped support me so far, and here's to me too. I'm going to try and keep up with things as they come on here. I've traveled this road before, I know it's not all fun and games, that it's a hard, harsh road at times, but maybe I believe I deserve this, I deserve to feel good about me, and about my life. Time to turn the page. If any one else who stumbles on this and happens to be in the same spot, well I have no illusions here, this probably won't change some one's life, but if it lets some one know they aren't alone that'd be cool too.

Turn the page.

The Text From 2018

A quick note, this post is being written via my phone and a new app. So it's mostly just a test.

NOW. The funny.

As I was taking calls the other night, a young man called regarding his phone receiving a strange text. After a bit of questioning, the particulars of the text come through. It was incoherent numbers and letters sent from a very long phone number which also included letters and was time stamped from the year 2018.

Now at first training kicks in, and I start looking for issues in the network. After looking and talking for a few minutes, I catch a conversation in the background that raises my eyebrow: "Dude, where's the tinfoil? We don't have any papers!" And then it also dawns on me that there are a LOT of kids in the background. Then the question that gave it away: (giggles are heard here) "Um, like, (more giggles) am I getting texts from the future? Do I get charged?" (Giggles are really starting now)

Sensing a prank, I calmly explain that if he has a texting package that no, he wont be charged, and that you never know, what with all the time space continueum fluxuations and radiation, it may be. I suggested very, very strongly to wear tin foil hats and hide. The giggles die down, and for a second I can hear gears grinding as his mind tries to wrap around the question of it I'm messing with him. He says thank you, I say good night, and he hangs up.

This is why I love the night shift.

I Smell Bacon....

I'm going to open up this entry with a confession: I'm really just complaining on this one, and to be honest I'm not going to do research or behave myself. I whole heartedly admit that I'm just ticked that I got a ticket for a seemingly stupid reason at a very suspect time.

Now that that part is done, go ask a cop about a ticket quota. I remember when I was in High School they had a couple of cops come in here and again to do "educational" presentations. They would field a lot of general questions, and then there would always be that one kid who finally got the idea to ask "Hey, officer, what's your ticket quota?". The officer would always do the same thing, rock back on his heals, get a little grin, shake his head ever so slightly and say "That doesn't exist". Every one would nod, smile and get together after class to discuss how he was lying about the whole thing.

Now what brings this up, you ask? Friday I was out and about running some errands and more or less goofing off before I got to lunch with my wife. I was leaving a parking lot, and waiting to turn when I spotted one of "Olathe's finest", rolling along in his spiffy modified Dodge Charger. The look on his face while he drove was one of near complete slack jawed, numb boredom. This wasn't a surprise to see a cop roaming around bored, considering that on the way to the store they had sprouted up everywhere. I had seen at least 4 cops in the span of 2 hours. Some may say that that's not a lot, but here that's odd, after all, it's Kansas, there's not a lot that happens. As he drives past me, I see his eyes flick over and scan my car. I assume he's just looking, until his face lights up like a Christmas tree and he suddenly doesn't look so bored. At that moment, I knew I was going to get pulled over, the only thing I couldn't figure out was what for. My car is legal, plates are up to date, I have insurance, I haven't even been pulled over in several years despite the rumors that I'm a psychotic driver (I've been told I drive like a grandma, just without the good qualities like going super slow, just the bad ones like forgetting where I'm at and which lane I'm in). So I pull out of the parking lot after the officer has passed by, and the dance begins as he tries his hardest to get in behind my car.

I pull in behind the police car, after all, I know I'm getting pulled over already, so I may as well just play dumb until he turns his lights on (this is my jackass reflex). Meanwhile the officer, who had stopped a good 20 feet before the stoplight we were now at, moves to the left and I pull next to him. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him, almost giddy with excitement, glancing over and checking out my car more. Once again, I wonder what on earth he could be looking at, but shrug it off because ultimately, as far as I know, I've done nothing wrong. The light changes, I go, he delays and pulls in directly behind me, even feeling the need to turn his lights and sirens on for me for the 10 feet it takes me to stop. However, I'm so ready to be pulled over at this point that I just pull over next to the curb. I look in the rear view mirror and see him scowling (my jackass sense is tingling) and motioning to pull off the main road. I pull off and go into the next parking lot, stop at the curb again, park and turn off the car. Now the first time I stopped I may have been slightly leaning towards some jackassery, but this time I was trying to be serious and not dig a hole for myself. I look back and see a bigger scowl as he turns on his PA system and instructs me to move to a parking spot in said parking lot.

After finally getting to a spot the officer was happy about, I roll down the window and wait. He approaches and tells me the reason for him pulling me over is that my windows "appear to be too dark". This is a surprise to me due to the fact that we've had these windows for 3 years now and never once had any issues. The officer produces a small electronic meter from his belt and slides it on the window, then informs me that the tint is indeed to dark. He takes my information and returns after a short wait with a ticket for $96.00, gives me the instructions on how to take care of it, and advises me that if I get the windows either stripped or re-tinted the court may overturn the ticket.

He leaves, I call my wife and tell her what happened, and on the way home pass another 3 cops parked off the side of the road and 2 more with some one already pulled over.

This all brings me to my point: If there is a ticket quota, they could really do more to hide it rather than showing up in force at the end of the month. If there isn't, then why is it the only time I see that many cops out on the road is at the end of the month?

Like I said at the beginning of this, I'm complaining. There is absolutely no rational thought to this whole thing, and I could be a million miles off, and I'm totally willing to admit that. You have to admit though, next time it gets to the end of the month and you start noticing more cops out than usual, it'll make you wonder.

Kevin Smith is Too Fat!

It's official, Kevin Smith is too fat. This is evident because of the fact that Southwest Airlines decided that he was a safety risk and removed him from a flight. Now this happened a few days ago, so Southwest has had time to post the following response to the situation:

Mr. Smith originally purchased two Southwest seats on a flight from Oakland to Burbank - as he’s been known to do when traveling on Southwest. He decided to change his plans and board an earlier flight to Burbank, which technically means flying standby. As you may know, airlines are not able to clear standby passengers until all Customers are boarded. When the time came to board Mr. Smith, we had only a single seat available for him to occupy. Our pilots are responsible for the Safety and comfort of all Customers on the aircraft and therefore, made the determination that Mr. Smith needed more than one seat to complete his flight. Our Employees explained why the decision was made, accommodated Mr. Smith on a later flight, and issued him a $100 Southwest travel voucher for his inconvenience.

A whole $100.00, well gosh, that's enough to cover any insult! Now personal feelings about Smith aside, He handled this like only Kevin Smith could. He hopped on Twitter and became a not so Silent Bob:

Fuck making it right for me just 'cause I have a platform. I sat next to a big girl who was chastised for not buying an extra ticket because "all passengers deserve their space." Fucking flight wasn't even full! Fuck your size-ist policy. Rude...

Smith's point that he has a platform is not only valid, but it makes such good sense it's sad. The fact of the matter that the same airline has a policy of going back to already boarded passengers and suddenly deciding that they're too fat to fly unless they fork out more cash. The difference between those passengers and Smith is his 1,668,861 (yes, that's the REAL number) Twitter followers. The truth is, that SW couldn't care less about the rest of the people out there that don't have a soap box to jump up on. What are you going to do? Write a letter you say? O.K., we'll be contacting you with an automated response and an empty gesture within the next 9 months!

On a personal note, I'm going to go do some sit-up's so I can fly out and visit the family back in California, just in case.

Thanks to:

The Consumerist.com for the info, and Kevin Smith for starting a Twitter. If you want to read his official statements and full thoughts on the matter, check it out here.

McWendy's King Challenge!

After seeing Burger Kings ad's bragging about how they have the superior burger, I decided to challenge the idea. Not to say I don't love my BK, just that hey, I'm bored and hungry. So I packed up, ran out to my friend's house and started the planning process.

First, the rules:

1 - All the burgers have to be bought within 5 minutes of each other.

2 - All that can be ordered is a "double cheese burger", as that's what's advertised in the commercial. Also the burger must be ordered from the dollar menu.

3 - There has to be at least one drink. Fries are suggested but not required. This is the one "cheat" that's allowed, but it has to be ordered separate, no value meals.

4 - Just to keep it consistent, try to order from either all franchise or all corporate stores.

5 - Eat in chronological order. The first order is eaten first, the last order is eaten last. In between burgers, take a break, take a drink, eat some fries and then start the next burger.

The rules being down, we then set into our mission. We came up with a grading system of zero to three based on three things: Taste, texture and consistency, cost, and size. Zero is the worst, three is the best, and anything in between, well, I'm pretty sure every one is smart enough to figure out the rest. So, with no further ado, I present to you, The McWendy's King Challenge!

McDonalds -

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

Taste Texture and Consistency: Jax: 1.4 Me: 1.5

Good, not great, but good. The cheese tended to get lost every so often and the dehydrated onions really didn't add or subtract from the burger. Still a little bit of an "off" taste to the burger. We both agreed that the pickles and other condiments were all put in one spot, and in one bite you could pretty much take out all the pickles.

Size: Jax - 2 Me - 2

For $1.19, not too shabby. Good meat to bun ratio.

Price - Well, here's the silly part, they charge you an extra $0.19 for a slice of cheese. McDonald's is the priciest of the three.

Over all: 1.75

Burger King -

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

Taste Texture and Consistency: Jax: 1.9 Me: 2

"It tastes like a burger" was the phrase we both uttered after a few bites. The burger is juicy, and has a nice smoky grill flavor to it. Sesame seed bun, well, it's a bun and it doesn't add or subtract anything aside from looks. No onions, which Jax was fairly upset about, but remembering McDonald's I didn't think it was a major issue. Whatever the burger was missing onion wise it made up for in cheese, and cheese was GOOD. Condiments were spread a bit better, but the pickles were still located in about one bite.

Size: Jax: 2.3 Me: 2.5

Great for a dollar, nearly perfect bun to meat ratio. Heavier than McDonald's and the burger patties were definitely bigger than McDonald's as well.

Price - Two pieces of cheese and still only $0.99

Over all: 2.2

Wendy's -

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

Taste Texture and Consistency: Jax: 0.5 Me: 0.5

The burger was, well, disgusting. The onion that Jax wanted was there, but it was slimy and completely distracted from the burger because it threw off the taste so badly. Cheese was there, but not very outstanding as far as taste is concerned. Finally, the "Fresh, never frozen" patty, well, it tasted like something, but it wasn't fresh. To drive home how bad this burger tasted, we didn't finish it, we gave up after a couple of bites.

Size: Jax: 1.0 Me: 1.0

When you first get the burger, it feels heavy. Then you unwrap the burger. The patties couldn't be the heavy part, they're thinner than McDonald's, and that only leaves the bun, which is way too big for the burger. To put it shortly, the burger is all bread, no meat and a slimy onion.

Cost: $0.99, still less than McDonald's but I'd pay not to eat at Wendy's again.

Over all: I think Jax put it better than any score can: "Just put 'Fail' next to Wendy's"

And thus ends the McWendy's King Challenge! Burger King did come in first, and it was actually bigger and, well at least in our opinion, did taste a little better. So bravo Burger King, you didn't fail your ad!

On a separate note:

Dear Wendy's, please follow Domino's example and start over, you fail.