Cruji Pollo—cruji is short for crujiente ("crunchy"), so that's Crunchy Chicken en español—is justifiably proud. He has carved out a new niche for suicidal animals.
Sure, we've seen shills trumpeting their superior flavor, patriotism, abillity to get drunk, promptness, and raw sex appeal as justification for your choosing them for your animal-consumption needs.
But here is the first to talk up his pleasing mouth-feel. Crunchy revels in the way his crisp skin will feel. In your mouth. While you're eating him. This dubious achievement is enough to make us cringe.
Even the letters are on fire, reflecting as they do the bird's desire to be crisped and made tantalizingly crunchy. He can't wait. With his knife and fork, and his apron, and his little hat, he is only too ready to dig in.
It's as though he thinks he'll still be around to sample himself and his oh-so-crunchy-skin (and bones?) when he has achieved the desired internal temperature and level of deadness. No, Crujito. It doesn't work that way.
(Thanks to Dr. Mar for the referral.)