Who Needs the Kwik-E-Mart?

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last few months, you know that the Simpsons Movie is upon us. Besides 4,000 irritating animated graphics on every Fox-owned network each hour, the marketing minds behind the movie have teamed up with 7-11 stores for a bit of co-op advertising.

This is clearly in The Simpsons' favor. 

In the series (and hardly noticed in the movie), Apu Nahasapeemapetilon's  Kwik-E-Mart is a festering cesspool of overpriced, expired product. Hardly anything 7-11 would want to be associated with. (But how far is that from the truth? Hmm...)  The Simpsons, on the other hand, are getting a boost by having Simpsons-themed product placed through thousands upon thousands of 7-11 stores. Hell, some have been revamped to look like Kwik-E-Marts, for cryin' out loud.

Then again, 7-11 owners are making out like bandits, selling "Squishees" and other Simpsons-branded products like they're going out of style. (OK, they've been out of style ever since Family Guy, but don't tell Matt Groening.)  

Simpsons-mania is spreading at epidemic rates unseen since the early 1990's.  Because people are suckers for marketing. Just like me.

Case in point:  It was a hot day and I thought a Slurpee sounded refreshing. I went into my local 7-11 and was suddenly dazzled by the prospect of getting a "Vanilla Woo Hoo!" Squishee. And as I walked to the back of the store to get said Squishee, I saw the infamous glass case full of Big Bite hot dogs of indeterminable age.  Adorning said case was a static sticker of Homer Simpson making his drooling face (Mmmm... eight month-old snaaaaackssss....) and Apu himself proclaiming, "Our hot dogs are full of bunly goodness!"

Well, I couldn't resist. I got my Squishee and accessorized it with a 1/4-pound Big Bite hot dog, knowing full well that A) I don't really like hot dogs and B) I really don't like 7-11 hot dogs. God damn marketing.

To be honest, the Squishee's better than I expected. Then again, what exactly can you expect of crushed ice blended with an artificial vanilla-flavored, artificial blue-colored syrup, served in an industrial yellow-tinted plastic cup?  Surprisingly, this fistful of petrochemicals is decent. And refreshing, despite the plasticky taste of the cup and the straw. It's kind of like making a water balloon out of vanilla creme soda, sticking it in the freezer to get it all slushy, then sucking the contents out. You know - yummy in a gross kind of way.

Notice that the blue-on-yellow coloring makes it look like you're sucking on Marge Simpson. Rrrrowrrrrr.

The 1/4-pound Big Bite hot dog is another story altogether. While it's not (I hope) the ancient, dried out, jerky-like substance that Apu serves up in his fictitious convenience store, I hardly imagine his wares could be much worse than this.  This has got to be the single nastiest, saltiest hunk of fast food pseudo-meat I've ever had the displeasure of tasting. And believe me, there's been a lot of meat crammed in my mouth. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's named in the singular - Big Bite - instead of the plural - Big Bites - because after one bite, that's it. You're finished. You have no desire to eat any more. They say hot dogs are made of lips and assholes? Try lips, assholes, and SALT. An entire sea full of salt. So much salt that I was afraid my skin was going to dry out, shrivel up, and leave me looking like some old pensioner on Miami Beach. Only without the hot bods and mojitos all around. Just more god damn salt. 

The only saving grace for this hot dog is that the owner of this particular 7-11 had red onions in the little bin instead of white ones. Classy, eh?

Otherwise? Disgusting. But what do you expect when you spend $3 on lunch?

Two skulls. A one-skull rating for sheer inedibility, a second bonus skull for marketing brilliance.