Pussy Cocks Are Being Wrapped In Newspaper In Order To Escape The Hurricane

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Well well well, aren’t so much of a fighting chicken when you’re on the ropes huh? A little wind and complete devastation starts coming your way and you have your handler wrap you in paper that talks about the deals at the local grocery store. Bananas are 49 cents a pound but your pride is worthless, ya chicken-shit chickens.

In my day, chickens weathered the storm. They’d cluck and crow their little poultry penises off until the tips were positively pulverized. They’d wake up at the crack of dawn after a long week of work, slug a couple brews back, and belch “Saturdays Are For The Boys.” Nowadays these fucking rosters check their smart phones and whathaveyou and see a storm barrelling down the Carribean and they freak out, hop into the back of a sedan, and head for the highest hills.

I miss the days when chickens were men. With all this free-range organic bullshit that’s happening, it doesn’t appear yesteryear is on its way back to today and that’s just sad. Give me a chicken that’s loaded up on steroids and antibiotics. Give me a chicken that is raging with home runs, hormones, and pride. Give me some Mark McGuires and Sammy Sosas in the chicken hut. Give me a chicken that is ready to face the storm and not run from it. In other words, give me back my childhood’s chickens. Hard to be the cock of the walk when you riding in the backseat of a sedan.

PS: Sorry for saying pussy in the headline but, technically speaking, the headline is not in the blog, so my promise to not say pussy in the blog is alive and well.

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