Monday, September 28, 2009

Finger-Lickin' Chicken & Mighty Fine Wine Supper

We couldn't help noticing your date for the evening. The high heels, the wig. The, um, "fancy" make-up. She is lounging inside a wine glass and, surely, has a heart of gold.

Please, we beg you. Please, do not be offended by what we're about to say. We're only looking out for you. Your date is… Well, she's…

Boy, this is awkward.

Well, she's a chicken, sure. But you knew that part.

It's just that…

Your date is a pro. She's a, um, professional, um, dater?

Look, the bird's an escort.

She's a whore, okay? Fantastic, you made us say it. Happy now?

Face it. She got herself done up, soaked in a giant glass of wine, and prepared to tolerate your imminent "special" time.

And why? What, you think she's into you? Grow up! We don't want to embarrass you, but she's only in it for the death! She knows you'll shell out for a big evening. She'll get some booze, see the sights, and then in the end? She gets to die. That's all any of them care about.

And what about you?

Yeah, what about you?


(Thanks to Dr. Sibyl for the referral.)

Addendum: Somehow, we are reminded of this sad, neglected chicken.

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