Mother's chickens came home to roost. They've been out West — Silicon Valley and such like. Got tired of the grind. Sold their company. Will be using petty cash to build a temp coop. They'll run their operations from there while they decide what to do next. And they don't settle for chicken feed any more. Not these gals.
Anyone who has spent time around chickens knows the true meaning of 'pecker', and it's not funny. Not any more.
If I were a chicken, I'd be tall for my age, and would have trouble finding pants that fit.
'Beak Over Troubled Waters' — my new fav song by Simon and Peckerhead.
While it's true that chocolate pudding is not my favorite construction material, I have finally learned how to nail it to a wall. The chickens taught me. They know a lot of weird shit.
Confession here — I've actually never seen a chicken except in my dreams. With their dream feathers off. And they seem different that way. Except at lunch too — I've seen them at lunch too. No feathers there either, not that I could taste.
Have anything to add? Then email sosayseff+snorp@gmail.com
Me? Just found out that my assessed value is somewhere between zero and nothing. To a chicken.
