So after and exhausting conversation and a cordial invitation from a friend of mine, I have decided to start this first blog.
Having thoroughly discussed with various people about the wonders of chicken, ive decided to explore this common theme to a more detailed extent.
Chickens have sine early 1800s been made fun of with the well-known joke of "why did the chicken cross the road?" (various answers have been created, but the original was "to get to the other side of the road"). But why put so much pressure on chicken's crossing the road? As the wise George Witty Bush once said, "I don't believe we need to get the chickens across the road. I say give the road to the chickens and let them decide. The government needs to let go of strangling the chickens so they can get across the road."
Chickens are amazing beings. Discovered by Magalhaes when he first when to the west coast of Africa, they were back then honoured and glorified beings, which would be eaten whenever possible in order to consume what they believed back then to be "edible gospel". It seems that due to some genetics, West African descendants continue to pursue this idea, even if unconsciously.
Chickens are what many women attempt to look like theyre whole lives. In a way, it is comprehensible that chickens were honoured like gods by African women. Men would always prefer the breasts of the chicken, no matter how big, round or tasty the women of the village would think of theirs. There's something about chicken breasts that just blow you away. They have to be the juciest and tastiest things one can get its tongue upon, and more than once I have heard someone describing their chicken as heavenly. As I had said before, consciously or unconsciously, the "edible gospel" is ever-present.
This grew to be a problem. The pope never liked the idea of "another holy being to him", and always denied such possibility. Yet the chicken...the chicken has fed more tummies than the pope's bread, and it certainly is more delicious. After various personages cried out for the acceptance of chicken, the pope decided to call upon his troops of saints and get them to kill all chickens and erdicate them from the sight of humanity. This did not please the supporters of chicken, but the pope had them killed, and the few who were living turned to crisp chicken, and burnt to hell. Only one of them, who had a clean soul, remained on earth, but in a form of a chicken. And what did this chicken do? Cross the road. And why?
As Ernest Hemingway once nicely put it:
To die. In the rain.
