The Colonel is a bad man.
His marriage of original recipe chicken with the words "family" and "feast" and the consummation thereof in and orgy of mashed potato and gravy is outrightly scandalous. I'm pretty sure there are videos.
Most of his patrons are unashamed about their lust for the Colonel's greasy offerings. But it is the ungodly hours of the night that brings his more seedy clientele. They are hulks of human flesh, shaking the very foundations of the earth with their unnervingly sloppy tonnage. They hunger for the Colonel's best and settle for nothing smaller than super-sized. With their bellies folded over the edge of a table, they ravenously tuck into the salty chips, wheezing excitedly with each mouthful. Their secret pleasure continues for a few more minutes in the drunken quiet of the night and soon becomes yet another regret in a regrettable evening.
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