I would describe the taste as what you would expect if you licked the oil off the machine parts in a gun. It seemed very industrial. I decided to add a little sweetness from the Popin' Cookin' kitchen, but after I dumped out the packet I was unable to go through with another bite.
I didn't feel very good after the one bite so I put the Whopper aside and checked the box for anything else. There was one other thing, quite heavy, with a disturbing appearance.
I turned it over. Apparently it was a pair of fake boobs that you can place censored carrots between.
I didn't have any carrots, so I put one of my #24 Jeff Gordon energy drinks there. It seemed like it would stay there pretty well, so if there was an earthquake or you were in a car doing a power slide around a turn I think these fake boobs would hold onto your drink pretty well.
It also worked fairly well...
...as a sloppy Whopper holder.
Peter did finally get back to me about eating some of the sex spray and bukkake lotion on a hamburger.
Over the years Peter has sent me roughly fifteen emails trying to get me to review Tenga eggs. I think they're eggs you jack off with. Every time I have to tell him, "Peter, no, I can't review eggs you jack off with."
But I'll store my Whoppers in his tits.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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