How Did I Get Here, And Where Is The Next Turn?

Greetings and salutations to all who deem this worthy of your time...

Brought up Jul 9, 2012

Best Fried with Gravy and Biscuits

Ok, the Punk has finally lost it. As I told him the other day, his hamster usually goes its own way on it's wheel, backwards, but I think it finally jumped off and is nibbling the cracker from which the cheese has slipped off. The Punk has quite lost his ever lovin' mind... and bought the farm. Nah, he hasn't left the mortal plane... quite the contrary.

See, the Punk has decided to grow his own eggs, or rather, is going to help his youngest grow eggs. Now, I admire anyone who has the desire to grow their own sustainence, anyone able to dig in the soil, plant seeds, help them grow, and harvest. The problem is, one can not go to a store and buy egg seeds, plant them, and grow egg bushes. No, no, no. One must first deal with some of the foulest, or should I say fowlest creatures God saw fit to bring into being. CHICKENS!!!

Don't get me wrong, I love chicken... preferably like the title, but baked and roasted isn't bad either. That, how ever, in my opinion is the only good chicken. Yeah, someone has to raise the bloody awful things, but that is best done far from me. Just bring it to me piping hot on a plate, thankyou.

But noooooo! The Punk is going to be raising them. Ok, technically, they are supposed to belong to his youngest, but the child will be returning to college in a month or so, and who will be the one to feed the horrid creatures, risk getting pecked, and muck out that lovely coop he is building? Well, he said his wife when I asked, but he and I know that was tongue in cheek. It will be him.

See, due to a childhood trauma, involving a cute yellow ball of fluff, and one very pissed off mama, I am deathly afraid of chickens, and birds in general. I can handle the variety that comes with bills instead of beaks, and flippers instead of claws. The rest send my pulse racing, and I break out in a sweat, causing me to scream and run if it happens to be cageless. Chickens are the worst. Now, my dear friend has insured that if I ever go visit, I will never set foot in his back yard. I really don't care that they are in a coop and run. Those critters are wilely, but stupid. They quite literally bite the hand that feeds them. Nope, give me my eggs in a nice carton, preferably from a store. I'd rather walk stark naked in church than go near a chicken.

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Anonymous » 6 years ago

here chick, chick, chick.... here chick, chick, chick....very funny!