Krispy Krunchy Chicken

If y'all haven't heard... The Pouch really likes fwied cheekan. That fat fuck eats like a whole family bucket on a weekly basis. If it grew feathers it could prolly work part-time as a fwied cheekan delivery drone for Popeyes... But don't be surprised if a piece or two might be missing from your order, let's just called that the "Pouch's Share".
So, my entire fan base of one knows how much I love Popeyes but there was a recent Thrillist article that claimed, "Krispy Krunchy Chicken's perfectly seasoned and juicy pieces might be the most underrated item in fast food today." I have seen these little chicken shacks within a store (usually located in all gas stations) before but never gave it a second glance because the people working there were filthy looking and always scratching their balls. Also, nothing is ever on the racks in those heated cases. Both Popeyes and KKC share one thing in common, they are both doing Cajun-style chicken. So, instead of going to my instinctual cheekan spot like a Pavlovian mutt this weekend... I decided to seek out this "most underrated" cheekan joint. But where the fuck is one intown?
Their website (yeah, I couldn't believe they even had a website) has the locations of every single one in the world and there are a fucking million of them... Of course, I picked the one that is in the middle of the refugee ghetto in Clarkston because I didn't want to go downtown and fight the hobos over my chicken or deal with the traffic going to the one on Ponce and Moreland since I was boozing hard in Decatur. In my tiny mind with ghetto cheekan shacks like these, the nastier the gas station is the better the ghetto pigeon will taste... Well, at least that's what I tell the pouch.
This Texaco in Clarkston was a total shithole (shit, most of Clarkston is like a 3rd world country, you fucking hear howling in the middle of the night and it ain't from dogs or wolves), it looked abandoned and I swore I saw a fucking clown smiling at me through the gutter. Luckily, I was cocked and locked... No, I wasn't getting a blood flow from all the excitement of the Krispy Krunchy Chicken to be had in a few moments but my 1911 was definitely in Condition 1. Walked in and the clerk's cage was surrounded by a 5" thick plated glass... Now, I'm thinking maybe I should have had it in Condition 0. I'm looking around like a giraffe for the cheekan and I finally spotted the KKC kiosk thinger in the back corner, next to the video slot machines where two yuge obeast mossbacks with needle tracks all over their arms were hogging two machines each. Jesus, look at these two fat slobs wasting their lives away playing video poker in a run down gas station... Then I looked into the peel and stick mirror where the cheap sunglasses were and asked myself the same question... Touche, motherfucker, touche.
There was an Indian girl working the cheekan stand and she looked like she did not fucking want to be there at all... Total misery on her face. Jesus, I don't even want to talk to it because she might turn into a fucking vampire and bleed me dry... She would regret that instantly because my BAC was like 90% pure alcohol right now. But fuck it, I'm here already... Like I have said many times before that I would risk life, limb and pouch for some sick ass fried ghetto yardbird.
Let's see what went down at this dump...

The heated display case was nearly empty except for a couple of scraps... I asked the chicken lady if she was making more and she said it will take 15 minutes for a 8 piece dark with an expression of disgust on her face. Why is she so fucking pissed off at the world... I guess I would be too if I worked here... But wait, maybe they were being robbed and I was being that fussy bitch that is demanding for newly fried chicken and fucking up their plans for a quick getaway... I can see the headlines now, "Methheads' Robbery Foiled by Fried Chicken Lips". I could only be so lucky but it turned out that she was just pissed that her parents weren't higher up on the caste system. Speaking of untouchables... I had to wait 15 minzies to get my grubby fat fingaz on that cheekan to see if the rumors were true about them being the most underrated fwied cheekan in all the lands. It finally came out and it was lava fucking hot and I had to let it cool down a bit. So, I rushed it home and put my fat girl's night outfit on and prepared the pouch to consume mass quantities of this ghetto fried pigeon.

Jesus, look at that glorious golden spread... The cheekan smelled great from all the steaming grease vapor which made the bag all soiled with grease spots and that's a good thing. True to their name, the crust and skin is ultra krispy and krunchy and not too thick, just the right amount of crust and crackle. The crust was seasoned pretty well but I don't know if it could be considered Cajun-style. The meat inside was juicy as a horny Catholic school girl riding an excited pony on her 16th birthday. The greasy juices was running down my lips and chin that I had to wipe it with my fingers and then licked it off. Never waste any of the drippings, that's like the nectar sack of the gods. Even when the chicken cooled down the crust didn't steam itself soft, it stay pretty damn crispy the whole way through. The honey biscuits sucked ass, they were doughy in the center and soggy on the outside from all the fake honey drizzle.

The fwied cheekan is pretty legit here but the big question is... Is it better than Popeyes? Fuck no, but it's pretty damn respectable coming from a dumpy gas station. Popeyes' proven recipe and operation for high volume is just too efficient. Would I get KKC again? I would if I was jonesing for a chicken fix in the ghetto or if I'm boozed up. I will have to try another location to see if they are consistent or if my theory is correct about the shittier the location the better the chicken. My one reader will prolly find out this weekend since I'm such a fat bastard for fwied cheekan.