Dear KFC,
My name is Dorothy and I’m a resident of the Quad Cities, in the great state of Iowa. First off, I’d like to convey just how much I like your product. Your chicen and side options, especially the biscuits, are divine. Just writing about how much I enjoy your extra tasty recipe makes my stomach muscles quiver with gastro intestinal glee. But the purpose of this letter isn’t to gush about your food. I’m sure you get millions of letters per day as to that effect. No, I’m writing to you in the hopes that you can help me find what I am so desperately looking for. My one and only true love.
Last Tuesday I was paying my usual visit to your restaurant on Elmore Avenue in Davenport. I’ve been to hundreds of your locations all over the United States, and I must tell you this particular location is the best. Not because it is a KFC/Taco Bell/ Pizza Hut, which is awesome, but more because the service is friendly, and the attention to detail is overwhelming. On this Tuesday, there was a big promotional event going on, an event supported by the biggest radio station here in town, WYEC, Easy listening, which had had a mobile station set up in the parking lot. It was at this event that I saw him. My one and only, my soulmate. A Colonel Sanders lookalike.
Before I go any further, I must confess that I’ve always had a thing for fast food icons. When I was six, I have faint memories of getting a strange feeling whenever I saw Ronald McDonald on the television set. Then in high school, Wendy and her pig tails had me questioning my sexual orientation. And in college, well I don’t wan
t to be crass, but lets just say the burger king had me spending a lot of time in the shower. However, all of these fixations, or crushes as they are called do not compare to the emotion that this dreamboat of a Colonel Sanders evokes within me.
He was stationed at a fold out table in the back of the restaurant. Next to the children’s play pit. This man, my man, as you can imagine, had all the the traits of the colonel: a tight fitting white blazer, slender and revealing white slacks, a sophisticated grey pointy mustache, and adorably bloated rosy cheeks. From under his little Kentucky fried cowboy hat, curly grey hair teased me in a flirtacious fashion and almost darred me to come over and give it a playful stroke. But I dared not. I don’t possess enough courage to commit such a brazen act.
I remember that when I was ordering my chicken, a number three meal supersized with a Pepsi, I couldn’t take my eyes off the Colonel. I observed him with eager eyes as he talked with patrons, I gazed upon him and his beautiful hands as he signed autographs. My God. It was amazing. He had me.
I sat in that restaurant all day watcing him promote your product. If only the colonel could have seen this man in action! In between mouthfuls of coleslaw and biscuit I dreamed of the life he and I could share. A life full of unbridled passion and deep fried food.
But then, after three hours of me sitting there, he left. He walked out the doors to his white Lebaron and drove right out of my life, completely unaware of how deeply he had touched me.
So KFC, I am hoping that you can help me find out who this man is. I’ve enquired as to the identity of The Colonel sevela times at the Elmore Avenue Restaurant, but sadly they say they cannot provide me with the information due to confidentuality clauses.
Please KFC. You are my last hope at love. I can tell you with 78% certainty that The Colonel and I are meant to be. Please, I’ve supported your product for almost all of my 47 years upon this Earth. Return the favor by helping me track down my Colonel Sanders.
Respectfully Yours,
Dorothy B.
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