Even though the Impossible Whopper was probably conceived in a lab by a mad cow diseased scientist, I’ve recently exhausted all my go-to DoorDash options from the comfort of my couch and have turned into a total pile of methane gas trapped trash, so—I figured it was time to try something different and get some fresh air, which is when I decided to take matters into my own unsanitized hands by jumping on the anti-cattle rancher bandwagon on my way to a Burger King drive-thru (while their spurious livestock supplies lasted), especially after seeing their gratuitously ramped up commercial campaigns that have been prodding me for a seemingly unending number of months now.
One of the perks of the Impossible Whopper is the feeling you get from helping the environment by reducing your carbon footprint, so after putting the pedal to the metal in my gas guzzling Tin Lizzie and driving halfway across the county to the closest kingdom of what I was craving, I all-of-a-sudden found myself in the queue. Then, once I realized the grave mistake I was making, I burned rubber by trying to back out, but somebody had pulled up behind me, and I was trapped. Like a free-range farm cow, my fate was sealed.
As I approached the drive-through window, I was hoping to see the plant-based pop cultural icon Snoop Dogg, and fantasized about asking him if the flame-grilled to perfection anti-bovine incarnations cooked on the same flattop as their beefy stepbrothers were as divine as the O.G. Whoppers, with him then giving me his classic, cute little high as hell smile and resounding, “Yeah, dog, they’re fire!” But instead I got some miserable, subhuman, Sub-Zero face masked looking adolescent cash register character, and when I asked him if the Impossible Whooper was any good, his eyes slightly opened and rolled in a weird way, which seemed like his internal monologue was saying something like, “Good god, this poor guy has no idea what he’s about to do.”