Burger King.

The King of Burgers.

What. An. Image.

Picture this: a kingdom built entirely on fast food.

Sesame seed skies. Soldiers marching with French fry spears. A moat of ketchup that never turns sour. And somewhere in the distance, a woman bitching out a worker because they forgot her straw.

Every kingdom abuses its peasants after all. 

The Kingdom fights wars against vegetarians and guys who tell you how to season your burger.

Some battles are won. Others are lost. And the drive-thru doubles as a drawbridge.

Now that’s a kingdom.

But the problem?

Their mascot king isn’t exactly king enough.

He’s less Henry VIII and more King Arthur if you know what I mean.

Not someone I’d trust to recommend a good burger.

I want a ruler swollen with sodium and savagery.

I want a man with gout.

I want a man whom I’d be afraid to use the bathroom after.

Not a silent plastic-faced phony who looks like he only appears in abandoned malls after midnight.

That’s not royalty.

That’s a sleep paralysis demon.

 

Dairy Queen.

The Queen of Dairy.

Finally, some feminism.

The queen of dairy would have rolling green fields as far as the eye can see, with chocolate chip mountains and a border to ban the intolerant.

The rivers are made of cream, the frogs hop on butter lily pads, and fat, happy cows graze in perfect formation, while farmers trail behind, ready to milk.

She would sit on a frozen throne carved from a thousand blizzards, just watching over it all.

Always icy. Always tolerant. 

Now that’s something.

But instead, we get “DQ.”

And DQ is not a queen.

It’s what a boxing announcer says after you lose consciousness.

Which is exactly what happens when you forget to take Lactaid.

Chuck E. Cheese.

A fun place for children.

Which is almost never true. 

Because nothing says “Mom-approved” like old pizza and a giant buck-toothed rat who looks like the focus group only knew the word, “radical.”

I mean, really, how did this logo get approved?

A rat?

It’s exactly what scares people.

Think about the pitch meeting.

“What if we built a casino for children… but the mascot looks like something that caused the bubonic plague.”

The man at the head of the boardroom table slams his whiskey down. Ice bounces off the glass and onto the stained wood.  He turns slowly.

“Genius. Fucking genius.”

He then leans forward, his eye quickly remembering the excitement of youth.

“Just make sure we add a ball pit — but this time we’ll fill it with pink eye, abandoned socks, and lost keys.

The table nods.

“That’s why you’re in charge.”

Taco Bell.

 

A bell… for tacos.

It’s kind of a let-down.

I mean, out of all the possible mascots for tacos, how did a bell come out on top?

People don’t even use bells anymore. 

What exactly is it ringing for?

Do people hear the sound and emerge from their homes like someone elected a Pope?

Is it sacred?

Or is it just a mystical object that summons diarrhea across three counties at once?

The ego!

I don’t know, but I’ll see you there at midnight. 

 

Long John Silver’s.

 

Now that’s a name with some lore built in.

Long John Silver sounds like someone who has seen things.

A yellow-hat sailor, one eye sharper than the other, with salt still blowing in his beard.

He’s definitely survived at least three shipwrecks, two whaling incidents, and at least one curse.

He’s awesome.

But instead, we get a fish that looks like it was rendered on the Nintendo Wii.

All lore removed.

All personality discarded.

As dry as the landlocked building it sits on.

 

It’s all love! I eat at all these places. Please like, comment, share, and tell me what you think. What did I miss?

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