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chicken dinner


Too often we let days go by without notice. One chicken dinner blends into the next.


June barbecued chicken turns into November roasters and it feels like a long weekend. It’s a sign we’re losing touch. At least that’s what we hear if we mention time passing at breakneck speed.


If we want to slow it down a little, get a ‘stop and smell the roses’ moment, start with a chicken dinner.


Consider the chicken’s point of view.

“You look thinner, Red. You been working out?” the rooster on the right asked.


“It’s a new cardio regime I picked up on TV. My trainer is a Road Runner. I’ll give you their number.”


“Save it for the chicken in between us. It’s been mighty quiet.”


“I gave it a good look. No head. That’s not a good sign.”


All of the signs look bad for chickens on chicken dinner night, but it shouldn’t ruin the fun.


chicken dinner


“I’m in the clear,” little blue chicken said.


“Of course you are. It would take five of you to make one of me. What are you, a squab?” big chicken asked.


“You don’t have to answer such rude questions,” tall chicken said.


“Oh, was he talking to me?” little blue asked. “I’m more in the clear than you.”


chicken dinner


“Could you all just shut up? We’re here on a spa date. Trying to get something done,” one roaster said.


“I loved the massage and the sauna,” the other chicken said. “Especially when they put garlic under my skin.”


“The tanning booth. Don’t forget the tanning booth. I can’t wait to yelp it.”


“The nice part is the space blanket they put under us. So warm and cozy.”


“Can you tell me why our feet are tied?”


“I was about to ask you the same. And what’s the cranberry sauce all about. The turkey mentioned cranberry sauce last month.”


“Let’s try and relax, okay? We’re here to de-stress. I just had my temperature taken.”


“Right. Let’s start now.”
About David Gillaspie


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