Written/Created by: Matt
Posted on 9.03.03.

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Hungry? Got ten bucks? Then head to Wendy's! On his dying breath, Dave Thomas reinforced his dreams of a 99-cent "Super Value Menu" to spearhead fast food's notoriety well into the next century. That's right -- by hook or by crook, you'll still be able to buy five crunchy chicken nugs for a buck in the year 2112. In an era of easy-to-order "combo meals," Wendy's foray into the world of cheap eats sometimes takes a backseat to criminally overpriced "double cheeseburgers" and soft drinks the size of a car. Don't be fooled. You could pay 4-5 bucks for one of their super mega ultra burgers, or just use the cash to get 5 "Jr Bacon Cheeseburgers." Your stomach will explode, but your wallet will consider the losses a justified expense.


I felt it was my duty to review Wendy's "Super Value Menu," a feat that'd only truly be accomplished by going to the drive-thru window and placing an order for everything on said menu. You'd think this would be a fairly commonplace thing considering all the late night stoners and whatnot, but my order was met by a reaction of total hysteria. The staff of Wendy's simply could not comprehend what I was getting at. Not since those three kids asked Robert Costanzo and Schjimmy to "give 'em a cheese with nuttin" had I witnessed such a grossly misunderstood order. After discussing what I wanted for a good five minutes -- amidst the increasingly irritated car horns of those hungry souls behind us -- I trekked on home with three bags of meat-stench and a couple of beverages. For the record, I don't think my car will ever release its current odor of a slaughterhouse mixed with potatoes. A small price to pay for such an inexpensive and decisively unholy feast.


There's the goods. Two burgers, two salads, two drinks, fries, chili, a baked potato, chicken nuggets, and enough barbecue sauce condiment packages to cover around 3% of it. Our first lesson: always request more barbecue sauce. Actually, it's better to ask for a specific number, because they're always going to undercut your desired amount of brown fire mud. Ketchup -- well, don't even bother. No matter how hard you try, you're not going to get enough ketchup unless you physically go into the restaurant and pluck it out yourself. This was a problem for me. I was willing to order "everything on the 99 cent menu" from the relatively unseen sanctity of my dirty car, but there was no way in Hell I'd place such an order in person.

When I got around to opening the bags up for a thirty-minute picture taking session, I was surprised by what I did done see. The only stuff I've ever really ordered from that menu were the nuggets and fries. The way I saw it, the other crap was just too small and slimy to warrant all of the forthcoming fat death -- if you're going to eat food that immediately translates to extra pounds, it should be something that at least makes you, you know, full. To the shock of millions, the best values on that stupid dollar menu weren't supplied from junior burgers or chopped up fried chicken heads -- the "lesser half" of the list is where the real bargains lied.

Let's take a look at the wares, one by one, picture by picture, paragraph by paragraph, Dave by Thomas. They aren't in order of my personal preference, so don't assume this to be a countdown or even a dreaded count-up. It's not I swear it. To what ends will a mere double-fiver (tenner? triple-three-times-three-point-thirty-three?) actually take you? Friends, hungry friends -- ten bucks will bring you a feast like none other. A feast full of chickens for the nuggets, cows for the burgers, seals for the chili, and potatoes for the potatoes. Come one, come all.

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With 350 calories and the tomato slice that personifies "beefsteak" like none other, the Jr. Cheeseburger Deluxe is only a "deluxe" in the realm of garnish. The burger itself is decidedly tiny, a fact compensated for by the addition of enough salt to halt an oncoming invasion of 1,000 alien slugs each of heights topping that of the Sears Tower. A slice of cheese and a really big slice of lettuce joins the rare, experimental superbig tomato as the burger's class-uppers. The bun seems a bit oversized, though it might just be that nobody makes buns suited for hamburgers thin as paper and shaped like the South American nation of Bolivia. Finally, two strips of bacon push the sandwich's fat content up to an amazing sixteen grams -- not quite to the level of McDonald's McGriddles, but certainly enough to negate any previous dietary needs of eating entire giraffes twice per week.

HOT TIP: Don't like mayonnaise? You better remember to tell Wendy's that, or your Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger will arrive looking like the money shot in a really popular porn flick.



What's different about the Jr. Cheeseburger Deluxe from the previous entry? Not sure, it looks like they fucked mine up and skipped the cheese. Typical. I guess the exit of the bacon strips makes room for the addition of large red onion slices, and enough ketchup to make the thing look more like roadkill than cooked farmkill from afar. Notice the almost perfectly square shape of the burger? I specifically asked for that. Like that old guy in the Mohegan Sun Casino's food court said, Wendy's is grub chain of people.

HOT TIP: If you don't eat a Jr. Cheeseburger Deluxe within the first twenty seconds of receiving it, the beef slab will become colder than Lucy the Prehistoric Homonid. You know, if they found her cold.



Ah, the fabled Crispy Chicken Nuggets. These chunks of fowl almost single-handedly spearheaded Wendy's surge from background franchise to top contender -- while McDonald's continued axing away at our wallets with their ludicrously priced McNuggets, Wendy's pioneered a new and needed industry where fried chicken flesh could be sold at more attractive prices. McD's has since lowered the cost of their nug-nugs, while Burger King remained unaffected since nobody ever bought their versions anyway. They're all-white meat, which is great, since eating chicken nuggets that mix in dark meat gives the consumer a discouraging feeling that they're eating bird bruises. They honestly don't pack the same guilty pleasure as the McDonald's variety, but at least they won't make you feel like you just ate something capable of hooking every corner of your stomach lining to reenact the "Jesus Wept" scene from Hellraiser. I wonder if Jesus wept for these chickens? At least it'd prove that the nuggets were really chicken.

HOT TIP: You can choose from a number of sauces to accompany your silly nuggets, but you may want to keep away from Wendy's version of "honey mustard." Unless you need some cheap prop snot for an upcoming homemade documentary about Billy the next-door retard.



Wendy's fries are arguably the best of all the many fast food chains -- they're thicker, they're "meatier," and rarely will you find one of those extremely burnt brown ones that could either be a potato stick or an insect that was swatted into the fryer. You can pick up a medium-sized pack on 99 cent menu, but as it's probably the most often ordered thing on there, you probably knew that already.

HOT TIP: If you bought these to go along with one of the burgers, eat 'em slow. You need these potatoes to cleanse the pallet after chomping down those saucy beef slabs -- and no, soda isn't enough to handle the task. Only salty potatoes. Slow it down brah, slow it down.



Well well well, look at that. Chili. I can't remember the last time I've actually seen these things up close, and don't think I've ever actually ordered one in the past. Believe it or not, this cup of beer shit is one of the Value Menu's best options. Don't let the photo misguide you -- that's actually a fairly well-sized cup of beef juice you're getting. I can't imagine it filling up anyone to a far lesser degree than those filthy burgers, and the chili works out since it's much lower in fat. Of course, you'll have to first get past what you'll actually see in that yellow cup -- amidst the beef and beans and whatever recognizable foods lie within are bunches of what appears to be either seaweed or stuff that fell off the toxic sludge guy's head in Robocop. If you can deal with that, you're rewarded with packs of crackers and a little tube of something I forgot to read before throwing all of this junk away. I guess it's hot sauce or antacid. In short, the cup don't lie -- it really is "rich and meaty." Sounds like a WB sitcom title. I love eating those.

HOT TIP: Don't take no wooden nickels OK???



Here's another nice surprise -- the baked potato entry is one of the best values on the list, simply due to the potato's size. Now there's potatoes, and then there's potatoes. This is definitely a potato. It's bigger than your fist, it's covered in enough chives to serve as a dollhouse baseball field's astroturf, and it comes with packets of sour cream and butter. Course, if you put those condiments in their entirety on the potato, you're better off just downing one of their triple burgers and a shake. I think I'm just appreciative of the potato since it's one of the few things on Wendy's "Super Value Menu" that comes in its own cute little display case. I can eat it or admire it -- totally my choice, just like the Mohegan Sun man said. By the way, I wasn't kidding about those chives. There's a lot of them. That's a big potato, but the meal has gotta be 60% chives in sheer volume. If you're not into chives, stick with the cup o' seal.

HOT TIP: Try to avoid smearing the potato into your face. It's pretty hot!



For the more "health conscious," the Super Value Meal also offers two types of salads. Don't be fooled, folks. Unless you're a vegetarian or a vegan or a vivacious viking vixen, there's just no reason for you to choose a salad over one of Wendy's greasier entrees. These things honestly aren't much better for you. Even on Wendy's nutritional values website, they only list the salads' assorted caloric contents sans dressing. Right, because it's such an optional condiment. Unless you were planning to eat the salad dry, you've got to consider the included dressing. With the side salad, you're handed a large pouch of "house vinaigrette" that pulls the fat up to levels consistent with that of the aforementioned cheeseburgers. The beast isn't as bad as cow chow on the whole, but it's close enough to warrant sticking to the tastier stuff.

HOT TIP: You can request low-fat or nonfat dressings, so if you care, do that instead. Also: the included cherry tomatoes work great as raptor eggs for grade school science fair dinosaur dioramas. When they start going bad, you've developed a new theory as to why the creatures went extinct. Comets and ice ages my ass. They died because their eggs were big cherry tomatoes.



The second salad is a Caesar, and while much better tasting, it's also much worse for you. This is partly because of the dressing, partly because of the salad's cheese strips, and partly because there's allegedly bits of bacon in there. They always felt more like "Bacos" run under cold water to me, so even if they're technically bacon, they're not bacon bacon. It's another one of those potato/potato deals, only more crucial since nobody wants their bacon fucked with. If you're into Caesar salads, you'll be satisfied.

HOT TIP: While at the drive-thru voice box sonic transducer, request that the tele-person lists off the Caesar salad's ingredients. You're sure to get a big kick out of the way they say "bacon bits." Even when employed by a fast food chain and forever surrounded by it's odorous offerings, few on Wendy's staff can let out a "bacon bits" without sounding completely embarrassed.



To go along with your chosen dollarific treasures, you can choose a medium-sized soft drink. Not shown in the photo is the included straw and cup lid. You get all of that for just 99 cents!

HOT TIP: Request little-to-no ice, otherwise your "medium-sized beverage" won't contain enough actual liquid to get down a Tylenol.



Finally, you can skip the Dr. Pepper and go for the throat with a "Frosty Drink Dessert," which is just as bad for you as some of the food. Mine seemed a lot more "liquidy" than I thought it would be, so if you were expecting something more "ice creamish," you're looking in the wrong place. This stuff's more like chocolate milk or a soda creme, or at least, what I'd envision a "soda cream" to be since I've never actually studied one before. The ingredients list shows a high amount of "Carrageenan" -- take that however you want to take it.

HOT TIP: THIS SHOULD BE A "COLD TIP," SEE, BECAUSE THE FROSTY IS CO-HO-HOLD! Alternate hot tip: great for use in conjunction with inspired "make someone think birds shit all over their car" pranks.

Now that you've had a closer look at the Wendy's Super Value Menu, free of the creative liberties taken with Wendy's ad campaigns, you're able to decide which of the entrees work best for you. Or you can just eat unsalted popcorn and thank God that black pepper doesn't go to your ass. Either way, we all owe the late Dave Thomas thanks. Not only for creating competition in what could've been a semi-monopolistic market, but also for looking so much like that landlord Annette Bening fucked in The Grifters.

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