by ·0 Comments

The man who invented the pre-cooked chicken strip is singlehandedly responsible for doubling the happiness index of those who’ve ever found themselves with 20 minutes, a toaster oven and  a hankerin’ for chicken.  Not just any chicken and certainly no kind you’ve ever seen before.  It’s uniform, possibly spherical, dipped in spices that never existed in any traditional spice cabinet and completely recookable with little loss of flavor from what was probably once a GM chicken.  It’s been chopped, diced, defatted, reconstituted and extruded to little balls of flavor.

Today, I tried a new brand of the above chicken-type and was met with the unfamiliar.  It was crunchy in some places and not in others, it was stringly and didn’t have the texture of tofu and an Arby’s Roast Beef.  I think into the delicious fake chicken I was expecting someone may have snuck real chicken .  What were they thinking?

by ·3 Comments

I go through bursts of hating to eat out.  It’s a poor value in that I’m essentially paying for a table and for someone to periodically interrupt the conversation.  Joe and I changed tack and for $12.00 we enjoyed about two pounds of chicken strips and a pound of tater tots washed down with some swell apple cider.

Driving home with my arm out the car window holding the champagne-like bottle and drinking it at red lights and modifying my route to drive by as many police stations as possible was my attempt at evening entertainment.  There just aren’t enough cops out at 10 PM on Tuesdays.

by ·0 Comments

I like to sing.  Sometimes this has worked in my favor while other times it has not.  Teejay Green, Val Green and I went out to dinner at La Fontana in Hatboro and after having chicken that made Gunnery Sgt. Hartman seem tender we walked back to my car and I was singing the opening few bars of Rhapsody in Blue, which has that pimp clarinet glissando in the beginning.  I was getting louder and louder until I rounded the corner of the restaurant and ran into a member of the wait crew who I’m sure though I was drunk as I figured I may as well sing louder.  On the way out, to prove that I may be an idiot, but at least a popular idiot, Teejay and I sang Petula Clark’s “Downtown” at the top of our lungs as we left the restaurant and raced through Hatboro.

by ·0 Comments

I like to sing.  Sometimes this has worked in my favor while other times it has not.  Teejay Green, Val Green and I went out to dinner at La Fontana in Hatboro and after having chicken that made Gunnery Sgt. Hartman seem tender we walked back to my car and I was singing the opening few bars of Rhapsody in Blue, which has that pimp clarinet glissando in the beginning.  I was getting louder and louder until I rounded the corner of the restaurant and ran into a member of the wait crew who I’m sure though I was drunk as I figured I may as well sing louder.  On the way out, to prove that I may be an idiot, but at least a popular idiot, Teejay and I sang Petula Clark’s “Downtown” at the top of our lungs as we left the restaurant and raced through Hatboro.

by ·0 Comments

I purchased a chicken cheesesteak today from the local Quikchek or what ever butchered spelling it uses and was miffed when I got the wrong sandwich.

Me: This is a turkey grinder, I ordered the chicken cheesesteak.
Sandwich Lady:  We’re out of chicken, so I switched it with another meat from the same animal.

He reasoning was so flawless I couldn’t argue.