Monday's lunch menu: a little KFC with a side of My Own Words.

Since it's ADD Monday, here are a handful of unrelated snippets:

KFC strikes junk food gold. Today, bacon lovers and fried chicken lovers alike can gather at the Colonel's table for the debut of The Double Down, a double-chicken, breadless "sandwich" mostrosity of unabashed deliciousness certain to be fast food's Villain du Jour. Or du Mois? Of the month? I don't know French. I do know there's something about the marketing of this product that has the cholesterol-averse up in arms. I think it's the brazen Absence of Bun. Two slabs of fried chicken plus some bacon between two fluffy little white buns wouldn't seem like such an offense to good nutrition. But there's something about the way the promo photos show this thing looking rather like a set of giant lips made of chicken wagging it's little tongue of bacon at us that seems unapologetically FRIED. Which I love, actually. I mean, if we were to take the Wendy's Triple Baconator and plop it down on a plate without a bun, people would probably take notice of the fact that they're eating THREE BEEF PATTIES plus BACON plus LOTS OF CHEESE. Much more horrifying, actually. About three times the bacon of the Double Down. The difference, I suppose: Wendy's quietly took the Baconator and beefed it up to unecessary proportions. KFC is proudly parading it's rather simple premise of "fried chicken instead of bread" in front of all of us as a sort of Drive-Thru-Dare. Frankly: I think I'll have to give this puppy a try. I'll report back post-food-coma.

Speaking of eating: I'm nibbling on my own words today. A few months ago I went on this self-righteous tirade against the idiots that allowed Kim Kardashian to slap her name on a fragrance line. I was embarassed for anyone that would stoop to buy this. I hated the idea that a "famous for nothing" socialite had enough pop culture pull that it seemed like a good idea to create something that smelled like her. Welllllll - let's just put my good little consumer tail between my legs for the day, because I, um.....I - uh....I sort of....um.....

bought her perfurme.

Because it smells really, really, really good. And apparently I am without any real principals, I'm a spineless, impulse-control-averse hack that will, absolutely, abandon all self-righteous resolve and go "ooh, that smells amazing - I would like to smell like that. I would like my clothes to smell like that. I would like to waft past people in public places and leave that general scent in my wake. I need that cute little purple roller ball for my purse so that I can take that yummy smell with me everywhere. Yes, I will spend $16 on that Kim Kardashian product. Because I am a Good Little Consumer."  There you have it. I'll sit in my car at lunch smelling like Kim Kardashian while munching on my Double Down feeling like I'm precisely who marketing departments depend on - a yuppy with a little disposable income and a boundless desire to smell good and eat bacon.

And, I don't have a good transition for this one, but on the heels of my little "I don't like Jennifer Aniston" remarks, I found this article today that pretty much says, "her overexposure has ruined her career, she's not interesting to us and we can't escape her." Sort of mirrors my sentiments precisely. It also clumped Jennifer Lopez in the same camp and said the fact that they've dated such high-profile men doesn't help. And it blamed the internet, basically, for making information about them so readily available. Which got me thinking: the fact that the webernet gives us instant access to the comings and goings of famous people (which feeds the paparazzi fame-hound machine and makes it very difficult for stars to hide from us OR us from them) means that I really have to give Heidi Montag credit for creating a pretty unique niche forself (a Heidi-shaped cog in the celebrity wheel, if you will) that's actually made the most of the inescapable marriage of flashbulb and gossip site. I mean - is there anyone else that could fill Heidi's, um...Louboutins and inspire as many snickers and as much incredulity as lil Ms Montag? Case in point: here's Barbie herself at some sort of Las Vegas opening for something. Who cares what. We're not supposed to. We're supposed to look at these pictures of her looking sort of stiff and wooden and startled and have SOME sort of reaction. Whether it's disdain, incomprehension, goofy amusement, whatever. And it works. She may be a laughing stock of sorts, but she's certainly made the gossip hounds work for her. And I can't figure out why I don't hate this chick, but I just don't. I find her brainlessness and her host of insecurities endearing. Spooky, huh?