Big Chicken's Question for the Day

Hello Everyone and Welcome Back Once Again to the Feathery-est Blog on the Planet.  Big Chicken here with your big-time Question for the Day, and that is, this:

Do you think that people who work for free should get paid?

Cast your vote two ways (that's right folks, every single one of you gets two votes, right here, right now, on Big Chicken Radio**)

1. Use the comments section at  the end of this here blog post
2. Email me at zbigchicken dot blogspot dot com

Wait a minute, that wasn't an email address, that was my blog address.  So, here, tell you what I'm gonna do.  I'm just going to leave that in there and pretend like I don't have the ability to edit text here because the fact that I put it there was mildly funny.  However, I shall also give to you the tricky little email number that always looks so good in black and that is:

zbigchicken at gmail dot com

Comments aren't posted unless you want them to be because here at Big Chicken Radio***, we respect your privacy.  That's right, we love and value and just really respect your right to privacy and would never ever ever sneak into your home and rummage through all of your feathers.  Or costumes.  Because you, Listener, are very important to us here at the home of the Big Chicken Broadcasting System.  Reminds me of a time when my good friend, Craigslist, was as important of a figure in this chicken's life as you are today.  Back before he, you know, gave me the boot when I tried to find my friend Dave over in Louisiana and used the Wanted section instead of the "I saw you," which I knew about but didn't want to use because, technically I never saw the guy.  Just the flyers he put up on the bulletin board there.  Plus, I think that section is more for peeps who want to date.  So, yeah, me and Craigslist, we used to be like this, you know, but now we're at odds, although that is where I got my start and I will never ever forget that, even if I do shun him now.  Not that I'm bitter.*

Your,
Spurned Chicken


**First, I would just like to point out to you, here today, that the asterisk-esses are in numerical order.  That's right, no tricks here today.  Second, I realize that this isn't the actual radio program.  Of course not, ladies and gentlemen, because you're clearly reading this, not listening to it.  What this is, is a plug.  Stirring up some anticipation, that sort of thing.  CAN SOMEONE HELP ME STIR UP THE ANTICIPATION HERE, PLEASE?  thanks

***There's that reference again.  Lurking.  Like a hungry, black wolf-like creature.  Waiting for zbigchicken to post tasty little giblets recorded by one of his assistants.

PS-Did anyone spot the mis-spelling?  If you did, then call me, I'm a lonely chicken.  Yes, I klnow that my assistant is right there beside me on this, The Final Leg of the First Annual Southern Migration, but honestly, she's pretty tired of being around me and anymore, she just gives me that look.  You know the one.  The look you give to someone you've been traveling with for close to two weeks.  And it's not the loving, "I think you're so funny," look, but more like the steely, "Get out."  And that, when we're traveling at 80.  Yeah, miles per hour.  I'm not kidding.  Little tip for ya here, aka a 'word to the wise': you don't mess with this particular assistant when she gives you that face.  I am not even lying (for once).

*Alright, I am.

First Ever Film Clip for Chicken!

You guys ever heard of xtranormal?  It's a neat website where you can make movies.  (http://www.xtranormal.com/) Turns out that one of my "friends" (and I use that term loosely, because, since this "friend" has done all this work with advice and creative consulting so far for free, I am thinking that they are probably in this solely for the money) made this little movie with me in it, but thought that it would be funny to make  me a girl because I beat him in golf last weekend and he was mad 'cause I kept calling him a skirt.

Please keep in mind, Viewer, that this five-minute movie you are about to watch does not actually contain any chickens or roller skates.  (Maybe that's because the consultant has yet to be paid.)  It does, however, contain two bears professing to be the Town of Chicken, Alaska, and yours truly, respectively.  This riveting moving picture displays for you some of the discourse between these two chickens during the negotiation phase of an odd bidness deal: namely, the attempt of one lone, redundant, ostrich-sized, roller-skating bird to ask for help from a town in the far far north in the making of a wonderful, delightful, and very, very funny film.   I'll let you guess which character is me.

To that end, The Big Chicken would like to thank his friend "______," who so generously donated time, talent, and expertise to this: The First Short Film of Chicken.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I give to you now the link.  Do with it as you will.  http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7248099

Your Friend and Mine,
The Very Big C

Pigs On Wheels - We All Knew That This Day Would Come

This Just In:

The Big Chicken has gone viral!  That's right, Ladies and Gentleman, the chicken's big dream to travel all around the world on these wonderful internet screen thingies is finally coming true because somewhere in Louisiana he caught himself a cold and hopes that his assistant will soon come down with it, too, as she has been far too happily recording Big Chicken Radio Spots while your chicken smothers himself down under the covers and prays that she will soon shut up.  Your big cranky chicken does not like to hear his peeps being funny in the morning time at all, but especially not so when he is feeling sick.

That being said, we find ourselves today in Abilene, Texas, a place with pigs on wheels, which, as you all know, makes this town A-okay in this chicken's little black book.  Speaking of which, I wonder if that pig would go out with me?  I could be finished with that date with the kookaburra by three and hustle on over to the barnyard or the skating rink to catch up with this very special pig by four.

We also hope that the pig on wheels may consider being a part of the big chicken's race across the nation when the film is made, because honestly, with tires that big, we think we could take him.  Or her.  We aren't quite sure of the gender of that pig, but still, I, your big cocky chicken, would be willing to race him.  Her.  It.  The pig.  So, if the pig is a chick, I'll date her.  If the pig is a dude, I'll race him.  Listen, this is all too confusing and I must be back to the car before my assistant leaves me here.

Your,
Big Sniffling Chicken

Another One of Them Funny Posts

This just in:

Views of zbigchicken.blogspot.com dominated by peeps from the United States this month, with Canada coming in close behind.  The Ukraine, trailed by Trinidad and Tobago, now falling behind, due to the new presence on the scene of folks from Denmark and Germany.  Where is Denmark, you might ask?  Well, it's right over there ------>, silly.   Just a mere stone's throw from another one of our visitors to this here blog and that is the United Kingdom.  That's right, Viewers, there really are countries aside from ours and all and people who read the Chicken from outside of this Our Great Land and it just so happens that someone has also been here from South Korea, too.  They've been in the news some here of late, it seems.

So, Welcome Everyone!  Thanks for dropping in, World Viewers.  Glad you stopped by, and please come on back for another visit again real soon.


My oh my, what an interesting world we live in.

Speaking of which, saw some turtles hanging out on a log in the swamp today.  Well, truth be told, it wasn't technically a swamp, but was more like a big lake.  However, since I am writing to you for the last time this week from Alexandria, Louisiana, and I have yet to see an actual swamp, I just made that part of the story up, which is the brilliance of fiction.  I get to say whatever I want and it can be a bunch of lies and people are totally okay with that.  I love my job, and I sure do hope that it continues to pay, so please remember to purchase your Cyber Chicken Theater Tickets found here
 http://zbigchicken.blogspot.com/p/cyber-chicken-theater-tickets.html and then come on back and look around some more and get ready for our very own Special Edition of Big Chicken Radio - Coming Your Way Real Soon.  My assistant has been hard at work (for once) recording interesting and tasty radio giblets for all of you and I really will get those posted just as soon as I possibly feel like it.  Hahaha, well what did you think I was going to say?  That I was going to do that as soon as possible?  Oh, that's FUNNY.  Listen, I already have that on my voice mail and (just between you and me here) that is just a bunch of kockamaymee bull spit, is what that is.

You know what that funny-looking "k" word reminded me of?  A date I had the other night with a total hottie.  That's right, ya'll, your Big Southern Fried Chicken had me a date, and a hot one, with this little kookaburra bird.  She's from Australia, and she says she's a kingfisher, but we'll see about that.  I was thinking as I lied to her and told her I was single, that she was probably from somewhere else, because who actually tells the truth on the first date anyway?  Certainly not me.  Though I do give it some thought.  About as much as I give to proper grammer and usage.  And spelling.  Listen, the thing about poor grammer, punctuation, and gross mis-spellings is that it's funny.  Which is why I do it.  And why I persist.  And all those guys said I was scared of commitment.  Well, take that, marriage counselor.  You, too, divorce attorney.  And you, mistress.  Number one.  For the night.

Hey, do you know the really neat thing about geography?  It's all around us.  Constantly.  Lurking.  Like the silent threat that it is.  Borders and boundaries that were once invisible becoming increasingly more obvious with things like big big walls and video surveillance and things which are put in place to help protect a chicken from things like wolves and foxes and other things which would kill and EAT him, but then just end of making him a prisoner, although, if you've got to be a prisoner, being one in a great big old free land isn't really such a bad thing.  This all makes my head spin, so please don't bring it up again.

Love,
Your Free-Range Chicken

You know how I knew where Denmark was?  Google.  I love Google.  Thank you, Google maps.  This is One Big Geographically Challenged Cyber-Bird, signing off.

Allergies

Been hanging with some kids. I think I may have mentioned to you all before that I am allergic to them, and that they make me break out and run every time I see one. Well, I would have run this time, too, but I had no choice. So, it's been weird. Mainly because they do things like move my shoes when I'm not looking, or pour rice off their plates onto the floor in restaurants, or scream as they are running from one room to another - and that, apparently for no reason other than to just scream.  I am so freaking jealous of that right now I can hardly stand it.

Listen, I'm a little bummed, too, because my friend request shout-out to Dave from the other day was flagged and removed from Craigslist. It's like, I always thought Craigslist had my back, you know? (sigh) As much as I hate to say it, I think that maybe all those fowl rumors I heard a little while back about Craigslist were true after all. No matter if I did put an attempted attention-seeking post for a friendship with a guy who writes funny stuff in the Items Wanted section. Well, I didn't very well want to put that in the personals! I mean, not with all of the recent publicity about the...you know.

So these parent people are just weird. Their kids run around screaming and pouring rice and all of that, and then the parents are just sort of like, "Oh, yes, that's what they do." Then my Mom busts in with a big old, "I remember when you used to do that." And, no, I am not going to tell you what "that" was, because it was too humiliating and she'll probably tell you her own self when she's a guest on my blog anyway.  Which reminds me: she said, too, that I can't be giving away those bird drawings I made.  Look, I'm not gonna argue with my Mom about this because do you have any idea what she went through to raise me?  If you have read anything else on here, I think that maybe you do.  Which still does not negate the fact that the story that she told about me was too humiliating to repeat here for all of you today.

Now, about the chicken suit. And the blog. One of my assistants started recording live radio spots for this here coop in cyber-space, so I will tell you now that we will get that on here soon. Maybe around about the same time as we get that other stuff I've been promising up here. Look, if you're new to this game, this is what I do: I lie to you, tell you stories, promise you things that I don't always deliver on, you pay me, and we all like it. It's simple, fun, and (dare-I-say-it) brilliant. Oh, and I do this modestly. I am a modest chicken.  Can't forget that.

Finally, I am writing this here to you in the wee hours of the morning because I didn't want to risk pulling out my laptop at all today while the kids were up and around (do you have any idea how fast they can grab things and run with them?  Or how often their hands are sticky with some type of food-related goo?  And then they grab stuff like electronics that they have no idea how much people pay for that stuff and then you're supposed to just laugh and go "Oh, well, that's just part of having kids," or some crap like that and then you're up at all hours of the morning trying to get all the work done that you couldn't do when the kids were around and then you just wonder why on earth people do this to themselves over and over and over again and then you hold a bottle for one who's going to sleep and you're like "Awwwwww," but then you don't let anyone see that s%@& 'cause you're a guy, a tough one, but they are really cute.  For like five minutes, but then the rest of the day is hell on earth) so I just want to say, to all my peeps out there with chilluns, that you are crazy.  Crazier than I, even.  I mean, did you know what you were getting yourselves into before you did this?  Next test question: And, if so, then why?

Your flummoxed,
Chicken

Wanted! Dave to Be My Friend

Central Louisiana Craigslist Ad

Under Items Wanted

Title: Wanted! Dave to Be My Friend

Location: Alexandria Coffee Shop

You know that guy Dave who posts stuff on the bulletin board at the coffee shop in Alexandria? I want him to be my friend. If any of you peeps out there know Dave, or his grandmother over in Boyce, tell him I said “Hi,” and “It's okay for me to be friends with you if you're cool being friends with me.”

My only beef so far with the guy is that I think he's funnier than me. I know that the grammer here is incorrect, but I left it there so that some of you (and you know who you are) can feel a bit superior to me. Then there is also the matter of the mis-spelling (above) that I not only do not have an excuse for, but which is just blatant, is what that is. And especially considering the fact that it (the mis-spelled word) is clearly underlined in this, my very own downloaded version of open source software utilized, by me and countless others, to perform word-processing-related tasks.** On my laptop computer (aka my “notebook”) Could we get back to Dave again? Sure. Thought you'd never ask. Okay, thanks.

So, and even though you didn't ask, but to fill you in, I am visiting this lovely city as part of my first annual Southern Migration, which is really a big deal to me since I am a big chicken, and I don't say that last part lightly. Anyhoo, I am heading out on Tuesday morn, so, Dave, if you want to be my friend, you need to act fast, because then we could at least meet for some coffee there before I hit the interstate and drive the next thousand miles over to my wintering grounds in lovely Southeastern Arizona. Just so you know, I am not the only chicken there, although I think that, technically, I am the only person I know who wishes to dress up like a big chicken and roller skate around the country and make a funny movie about it that will keep people laughing for years to come. Or at least for a couple of hours while they're watching it, and then again for the first two or three times that their kids watch it, although really, after that, it's pretty hard for any comedy to stay funny unless you're really talented, which I probably am not. However, I do have many very funny co-workers and subcontractors on this here endeavor, which can only be good for you. And for me, too.**-+

Which brings me back to Dave, because he is clearly a very funny guy. So again, if you are Dave, or you know him (and this isn't just any old Dave, but specifically the one who posts the funny stuff on the bulletin board at that one coffee shop, like I said before so quit interrupting me), please send him on over to my blog zbigchicken.blogspot.com and have him email me, 'cause I sure could use his help here. Especially if he's willing to work for me for free to start. Just tell him to keep track of his hours on this, because he'll need to bill me at some point.

Thanks. And to that end, I remain,

Your Big Chicken

**And for those of you who need some free software that includes a word processing program and spreadsheet program and presentation program and so forth, go check it out here (but be sure you always read up on stuff before you go downloading any files, because you know how some sites are, trying to get you to download things that slow your computer down and all and, which reminds me, if any of you have had that problem, let me know, because I know a guy who does computer work and, if you're cute, he may give you a really good price. If you're not, he's probably going to charge you $45 per hour. Listen, he may charge you that much even if you're not cute, so if he does ask you to pay, don't take it personally, he may just need the cash. Which is why he's working. Back to the software*-, though, this stuff is good as long as you just use it primarily at home because, if you know anything at all about file types, you'd need to save your work in a format that'll be compatible with other software, like Microsoft's Office (which is what a whole lot of computer users use) if you're gonna email the stuff you're doing to your friends or business associates and listen, if you need some more help with that, let me know, because I know just enough about this sort of thing to either 1.) get us both in trouble or 2.) help you out a little bit. Just be forewarned that I, unlike my one friend that I already have (which apparently is not that Dave guy, at least, not at this point) am going to charge you full price, whether you're cute or not, because I need the dough.

*-That software I told you about is called Open Office and you can find it at open office dot org, but I changed my mind and am not going to put a link here because I refuse to keep doing your work for you.

PS-Please tell Dave I said to call me. I mean, write. Or, type, if you want to get technical about it. Not technical, really, just specific.

PPS-Dave, if you read this, and you get to the next part, please don't be mad at me. I was just getting really upset when I thought maybe you wouldn't help me out for free with this movie thing. Plus, I really want you to be my friend.

**-+ A special note to the guy that I want to be my friend. Please help me keep this funny, Dave. I'm talking the kind of funny that lasts through multiple viewings by the kids. The kind of funny that people quote from for years after. The kind of funny that makes your belly hurt from all the gut busting laughter. And please do it for free or at least work with me here and pay me, so I can do this for you. Because I'm doing this here thing for you. And don't you forget it. DON'T YOU EVER FORGET THAT, DAVE! I mean it. So, please write. Funny stuff. For my movie. For our movie. And be my friend, too. Thx. -the big c

Stolen Paper Napkin Series - Two (Or Three, I Can't Remember Which)

Hello Everyone,

Big Chicken here with the update you've all been waiting for. Remember how yesterday I posted about boobies?  Well, I also drew one.  That's right.  I have a pic of it here for you.  That's right, Censors and Search Engines, pictures of boobies right here on my otherwise clean and wholesome blog.

To fill you in on my coveted "Stolen Paper Napkin Series," (because, honestly, I can't remember if I posted about it or just wrote about it in the notebook that I keep talking about and promising to transcribe from) this is original Big Chicken artwork drawn on napkins "stolen" from all across this Our Great Land.  The purpose and intent here is to get in on the geocaching game that no one has researched for me yet, so I still don't know how to play, or to hand them out to random strangers (like that nice guy at the coffee shop in Vegas, except he got one o' my patented toilet paper scrawls [which technically still fits into this series, although I think there's probably enough material there to start another series all its own.]  where was I?  and why the chicken suit?  Ah, Amarillo.  That's right, Plucky Readers, I am currently in Amarillo.  Not a bug to be seen in this restaurant slash coffee shop - which is disappointing, to say the least.)

Back to the napkin series.  I put this one - oh, I just remembered, I also gave one of a Stellar's Jay to my good friend "_______" when I stopped in northern Arizona the other day.  That's right, public, there are more where that one came from and I'm just going to keep drawing funny-looking birds with cute little titles and quips, just because I like the word "quip."  Did you notice the quip on today's napkin?

So, here is my offer to you.  If you are not already a supporter of Your Dear Old Big Chicken (which would make you a "Patron of the Arts,"***), then hop on over to my Cyber-Chicken Theater Tickets page, (http://zbigchicken.blogspot.com/p/cyber-chicken-theater-tickets.html) read all the silly stuff there (except for the part near the end) buy some cyber-tix, and then hit me up for your very own piece of the Stolen Paper Napkin Series Pie.  I am also selling bits of my soul.  Just kidding, Ma!  Ow!  What are you doing here?  I thought you were still four states away at least (listen readers, don't EVER say stuff that your mother wouldn't want you to say, because she's gonna find out about it, one way or the other).  Would you get off my back, Mother?  I'm a GROWN CHICKEN NOW.  WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS TRYING TO EMBARRASS ME IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS.  YOU'RE NOT?  OH, REALLY?  SO, SHOWING THEM THE PIC OF ME ON THE TRAINING POTTY WAS NOT DONE TO EMBARRASS AND HUMILIATE?  I was being especially cocky that day?  Oh.  Sorry about that.  Yeah, I know.  Sometimes I can be a real jerk.  Hey Ma, could you fix me some oatmeal the way I like it?  You know, complete with the bugs, but without the...you know... oats.  Thanks, Ma.  U R Z Best Big Chicken Mamma in the Whole World.

Hey, what are you guys doing listening in on my conversation with my mom?  This is private.  Listen, if I find that any one or all of you is spreading this around to all of your friends and associates on the world wide web, why, I'm gonna call you up or send you a nice electronic letter thanking you for your kindness, generosity, and support.  Well, what did you think I was gonna say with my mom standing right here?  Seriously, if more peeps found out about me, that would be really cool and probably very financially helpful so that I can, you know, keep my coop and not lose the farm and that whole thing.  Heyyyy, speaking of which, I was telling you earlier about the stolen paper napkin series and just want to let you know that you, too, can have one of these for your very own if you are already a supporter or if you climb on board this here crazy train for the long haul.

Your,
"Artistic" Chicken

PS-If any of you have advice about how I can do this thing profitably, please let me know at zbigchicken at gmail dot com


***Hahaha, are you kidding me?  This?  Art?  Ohhhhh, that's a good one.  Listen, don't ever call my stuff art again or I'm gonna say something that you and I are both gonna regret.  Don't make me do that.

Why Am I Such a Big Chicken?

Off the cuff here (and off the record, too, okay Reader?  Never mind that it's being published online; let's just keep this between you and me.  It'll be our little secret.)  Do you know what?  I am a big chicken.  I know what you're thinking: "Now that's a surprise!"  It's true, though.  As much as I hate to admit that, it is.  Here I have this great (great) idea for a film, and I'm sitting here, scared to move forward with it.  Like, what if I fail?  Or what if great big boogers fall out of the sky?  Okay, that was gross and juvenile, and I'm sorry, because I know that those of you who visit this my hallowed blog have come to expect much more than that from me by now.  Hmmm, maybe that's not actually true.  I just won't think of that anymore then, shall I?  And why am I asking myself for permission?  This whole blog thing is getting more and more confusing.  So, let me take a moment here to sort things out.

First, make no mistake.  I am in this for the money.  Forget that whole, "It's been my dream for longer than I can remember to dress like a bird and roller skate around."  And forget all the nice peeps out there who have laughed when I told them about the concept for the film, and who said, "You should do that, it would be so funny!"  And then what about the fact that there is really nothing else on the planet that I love more than roller skating and writing long-winded blog entries to you?  Yes, just forget about all of that stuff, alright?  And focus instead on my use of the word "boobies" in a previous blog entry.  An entry that may earn me the kind of censoring attention that most bozos just dream of.  Maybe I should instead focus more on violence.  Nah, that's been done.

I just sketched out a blue-footed booby on yet another stolen napkin.  Or have I not told you about my "Stolen Paper Napkin Series - One"?  (Where should the question mark go in that prior sentence?  If you said, "Before the quotation marks," then you are hired, my friend, for the coveted position of Chicken Ghost Writer.

Ahhh, looks like the rain may be letting up here in Albuquerque.  I hear they don't see much water falling from the sky here.  Wonder if they've started a large-scale rainwater harvesting movement, like some other folks in the desert southwest http://www.harvestingrainwater.com/

Your Low-On-Self-Confidence,
Chicken

Boobies

Today's show is all about boobies.*  The blue-footed kind.  I think that they hail from the Galapagos Islands, which were made famous by that one icon to nerds everywhere, Mr. Charles Darwin.  Or was it Sir Charles Darwin?  Anyhow, let me see what I can find for you today about blue-footed boobies and Charles Darwin, or "Mr. Sir," as I shall hitherto (or is that henceforth?) refer to him.

Blue-footed boobies are big, awkward birds that have a hard time landing.  I know this because a drunk guy told me.  So that's hear-say.

Mr. Sir Charles Darwin promoted ideas about evolution, a concept that some folks felt was, or potentially could be, at odds with the teachings of a certain church.  Making that heresy.

I like breasts.

*I lied.  In addition to boobies, today's show included information (garnered from very reliable sources, I might add) about Mr. Sir Charles Darwin, breasts, hear-say, and heresy.***  There was also mention of a church, although not any particular one, as I felt like the time it would have taken to actually look up the information for you would likely not have been time well spent.  However, if you wish to pay me, I would be happy to discuss my hourly rate for research services with you.  You may also support my funny business by purchasing Cyber-Chicken Theater Tix (see the tab at the top o' the screen, under the very striking and dashing shadow figure better known as me.)

***Listen, the reason I bring this up is because of a "conversation" (read: argument) I had with a "friend" (I use that term loosely here, since the so-called "friend" has yet to apologize and, not that I'm keeping score or anything, but it's really that person's turn, is all I'm saying) and, during that "conversation," this "friend," who was clearly agitated and who's really been under a lot of stress for several months, and who has also experienced some loss, says to me, "You always blah, blah, blah," except it wasn't really "blah, blah, blah," that was said, or I guess it could have been, because truth was, at that point, I was no longer listening because my friend had just said the magic word.  Did you spot the magic word, ladies and wheat germs?  Let me just give you a minute here to see if you can find it.  Okay, okay, I can't wait any longer.  You give up?  Good.  It's "always."  That's right, "always."  Because that word, when speaking of behaviour (note the fancy mis-spelling.  Take that, Great Britain.), is never accurate.  That's right.  So, it's essentially like you're playing a game like chess, but in this new and improved game, your opponent can actually put themselves in check, because once that "always" is thrown in there, I'm going to ignore the rest of the psycho-babble, focus on the misuse of one word, and nitpick my way to the hallowed and glorious realms of argument stardom with a big, fat "You're Wrong," followed swiftly by, "You can't use words like 'always' when you're describing my behavior because that would be an exaggeration, so that's not fair."

So, feel free to use that little nugget in your next argument.  See how it turns out.  Because we all know that, when people are stressed out and saying unfair things when they're mad and trying to express their emotions (which is arguably one of the more difficult challenges many of us face here) in order to try to be understood; there is really nothing in that moment that could be more important than winning.

Oh, BTW, if you wanna call me up while I'm driving across the country and have an argument, and you happen to be one of the folks in Big Chicken's Inner Sanctum (I love that name), [a fact you will know because you will have my phone number], just give me a ring and we'll chat.  Or spat.  Either way, I've hours alone with nothing but the voices in my head, a notebook, and occasional music.  So call me.  And if you don't have my number, you could still write me steamy letters and send them through email.  Speaking of which, let's hear it once again for hump-day, everyone!  (Because today is Wednesday.)  So, if you're out there and you happen to be one of those peeps who is actually getting some, please send a full report to your big chicken.  I need the spice, ''cause some of us chickens out here (surprise surprise) ain't gettin' laid.

Over the coming months and years, I am going to write more about boobies.  Both the blue-footed and the other kind.  To that end, I will research both** eggstensively, and then get back to you.

**Mainly the other kind.

But, regarding the bird kind (that you can see here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue-footed_Booby), I've thought of a funny slogan.

'Big Chicken Boobies - Big or Small, We Love 'Em All'

Your,
Codependent, Booby-Lovin' Chicken

Ramblings of a Lone and Wayward Chicken

Hello Members of the Public, and Welcome Back, Once Again, to the Most Grossly Mis-Capitalized Blog On the Planet. Just Remember, You Heard It Here First (although, technically, you're reading,  unless you're one of those peeps who happen to read out loud as you go, which is not recommended by Mr. Stanley D. Frank, who wrote that one book on speed-reading that you can buy with the Amazon link below [Nerds, I am talking to you here, which actually means that I am just talking to myself again, but, anyway])***

Anyhoo, this just in from one o' my peeps

'Just looked at your big chicken blog - hilarious - I love that "skating across the nation in a chicken suit - so I don't have to" - way to take one for the team!!! Public service at it's finest :)'

That's right, ladies and wheat germs, I am doing this here thing for you.  So please remember to feed the chicken with those tasty Cyber-Chicken Theater Tickets, so zbigchicken can continue to give you tasty belly-chuckles.

Writing to you in italics today from the Clark County Public Library, where one of my many and varied "friends" is waiting for me in the lobby.  So, let's just take our time on this, shall we?  As in, a thorough review of who we are and why we are a.) skating across the nation in a chicken suit and b.) writing you long-winded, hilarious blog entries about it.  Oh, alright, fine, I will cease with the italics, but only because I think that you are so incredibly cute when you stick your beak under your wing like that.  Awwww.  Hey, listen, I have a friend with a lonely cockatoo.  Are you single?  No?  Well, you didn't have to slap me.  I was just asking.  Speaking of bills, hang on a sec, I have to go pay one.


Listen, could someone, preferably one of you smart people, research geocaching and then call me up and talk to me about it while I'm driving across the country?  You've got my one number, I'm sure, and if you can reach me on that one, then I'll give you the other one, the one that has better nation-wide coverage.


For the rest of you losers out there who aren't yet part of Zbigchicken's Inner Sanctum, hook me up wid some dough and then we'll talk.  Heh heh.  Seriously.


Okay, paid the bill, seems like there was something else...oh, the italics.  There.  What a freaking relief.  This page was startin' to look a little girlie.  Nothing against the chicks, but usually I only try to look all sensitive and all when I'm trying to, you know.  Get some.

As for the geocaching, please do ring me up and let me know all the details**, because I have started a great series of stolen paper napkin art that I would really like to start leaving in places all across this Our Great Land.  Another alternative is that I will gladly sell this artistic crap to any one or all of you.  So, let's start the bidding.  You've got my email, but I'll give it now to the new players, so that's

zbigchicken at gmail dot com (as always, remember the z before the b)

By the way, you know that big chicken you saw walking down the street in Las Vegas this morning?  That was me.  Hey, you try looking good before coffee, Mr. Wise Guy.

Grungily,
Your Big Chicken

PS-I have lots of funny things that I have been writing and that I will continue to promise to send to you.  So, for those of you who have had it with me and who are now truly at the end of your ropes, just hang in there.  I'll get it to you soon.  I promise.  Maybe.  Haha, are you still reading?  Who in their right minds ever reads a "PS?"

**And then meet me somewhere between here and Louisiana, for instance, I have a brief layover planned for Flagstaff, Arizona, tomorrow, and would be happy to meet you there and let you install, for me, the app that will allow me to use my telly phone as one O them fancy gps thingers.  So then I could play the game.  As the chicken.  That I am.  So call me.  But first, do my work for me.  Then call.

***Could someone tell me where the period would go at the end of a parenthetical like that?

Listen, I really have to go now, because I have to take that one nice friend to big chickens everywhere to lunch.  See you tomorrow, I hope, and just remember:

Who's Your Chicken?

And don't say it's those jerks over at Robot Chicken.  That's right, I heard of those guys.  Yeah, my smart friends clued me in to the competition.  Well, I don't care how many chicks they have in bikinis on their website http://www.adultswim.com/shows/robot-chicken/index.html (which is a brilliant tactical maneuver, and btw, if any of you big chicken fans out there wish to send me pics of chicks in bikinis, please, be my guest), I am still very funny.  And handsome.  Surely, that counts for something in this day and age.

You know what?  I just scrolled down their stupid wikipedia page, and do you realize how many stars they've had as guests on the show?  Chicken Ghost Writers, get in here!  Tell me, why does the Robot Chicken show have lots of peeps on it and all I've got is a cadre of smart, creative, brilliant friends and followers (publicly silent though they may still be) who are doing all kinds of neat, behind-the-scenes stuff?  Ohhhh, that's right.  We do have that, don't we?  So, take THAT, Robot Chicken!  Yes, that's right, take that like a real chicken.  (And, BTW, if any of you Robot chicken peeps ever want to be a guest on my show, write me.  I'll think about it.  Okay, okay, I thought about it.  You could be a guest on my show, but only because you're already famous.)

Canadian Geese Are All The Same

Just flew in to the Jolts & Juice Coffee Company in Ontario, Oregon.  (http://joltsandjuice.blogspot.com/)*** For a while there, I thought I might be heading in the wrong direction, for instance when I saw road signs (that I actually paid attention to) proclaiming messages like "Ontario 70."  Poor confused chicken, he was like, 'Canada?!"  Of course, he was still unwilling to pull out the Atlas of the United States and look at it.  Again.  Then when he got here he also left his notebook containing all of his varied and, dare-I-say-it profoundly fowl musings in his assistant's car.  Along with the camera which has the neat pics and video clips that are meant one day to be viewed by you, fluffy feathered viewers.  And I'm not one to tattle-tale, but he really had this coming.  Even though he would be me.  Listen, I don't think the coffee is working yet.  Just give me a minute here.  Haaaaaa.  Okay, there it is, working it's charm and fulfilling the promise of helping me to 1.) stop referring to myself as "he" and 2.) do stupid things faster.

As for the coffee shop, this place is alright with me.  Of course, I am a sucker for any place that has doors on the ceiling topped by rubber chickens under glass, and I'll be the first to admit that.  Wish I had that camera from the car.  Oh, well, too late now.  Since it's parked about a half a block away, and we all know I am not going to be walking that far on any given day, but especially not so on Saturday.  I just can't find it within myself to do it.  Sorry.*_-

Oh, hey, heads up ya'll, there's an eagle flying over.  Okay, he's gone.  Or she.  I can never tell the difference.  They all look the same to me.

Now, this just in.  There's a new stop on the Big Chicken's Fabled and First Annually Made Southern Migration.  Please visit that tab on this here blog for a thorough review of my dashing itinerary, and then add this to the bottom of the list**:

Tucson, Arizona November 6-7, 2010 for the All Soul's Procession http://www.allsoulsprocession.org/

This is your Big Hunky Chicken, still Promising You All of the Fabulously Wonderful, and Yet Absolutely Dastardly and Fowl, Musings from my Little Black Book.  Plus Pictures.

Oh, and the Twitter bird and I are having problems again http://twitter.com/zbigchicken

Hey Everyone, One O' Big Chickie's Friends is Currently In Our Nation's Capital (Or Was 16 Hours Ago) So In Honor Of That Friend, Let's Hear It For Improper Capitalization!

This is your big buoyant chicken wishing my new, improved, smart, chickie friends safe and fun travels in Alaska.  And btw, Saucy Comment Leaver:  Where are you? Your chicken misses you.

*** Too bad they don't have pics of the place because the interior design is very creative and fun.

*_- I'm not.

**Did you add this to the bottom of the list like I asked you to?  No, of course I realize that I didn't technically ask you.  That's right, I told you.  Don't make me tell you again.  Anyone else getting tired of that phrase?  I am, too. Wish I had me a cute travel partner, someone to rub the wing joints, you know?  Heyyyyy, is that a Canadian goose?  In these parts?  At this time of year?  Alone?  Say, sweetie, you going my way?  No?  Yes, of course I'll get out of your way.  Sorry about that, you know, the whole "sweetie" thing.  Say, Miss, could you point the way south?  I'm a little disoriented today.

Your big chicken still wants to tell you about the neat peeps from the ferry ride, like the one couple who has been married for forty years (a miracle in our modern age) and the nurse who wishes to travel a remote Alaskan highway before she turns 80, which is only three years from now.  Oh, and she's going it alone (unless she invites the Chicken to go it with her, which he would gladly do if, and only if, she promises to never, ever, ever have oatmeal for breakfast.  I simply can't stomach the thought of oatmeal before I've had at least three grubs.  And then, only if it's sprinkled generously with bugs.  And if we leave out the oats.  And the meal.  So, a big, steaming bowl of oatmeal, with plenty of bugs, but also without, and I really cannot stress this enough, without the meal and also without the oats.  I guess, served like that, I could really start to like oatmeal after all.  Who's with me?

This is your Big Chicken, promising to you, here today, that I will type up all of those musings from my notebook and post some pictures and things.  tomorrow.  maybe.  one more time for improper capitalization, everyone.  isn't he great?  so long, and goodnight.

Today's Travelin' Update

Hello Fluffy Viewers and Welcome Back to Big Chicken's First Annual Southern Migration.

For those of you with short memory spans who already don't remember, I am your host, Big Chicken. Today's message is brought to you from a coffee shop in Cle Elum, Washington. FYI, readers, I have fresh material that I laid out during the ferry ride from Juneau, Alaska, back down to the lower forty-eight but, truth be told, for once, I need to get back on the road while I have still have me some daylight, because this chicken does not like to travel at night. Actually, I do. I just have this problem with lying, and I can't seem to stop. So, I write fiction. Oh, heyyy, one of my very smart friends (nothing against those other ones) sent me this:

http://www.adn.com/2010/09/14/1453994/unalaska-police-blotter-assault.html

It's a short read about an assault with a raw egg.  I guess that crimes like this one are apparently sweeping the nation.  Probably brought about by all those chicks who are so jealous of my wit and style.  Anyhoo, I have some very funny stuff to type up for you all that includes an interview with the Town of Chicken, Alaska, and an update about the government pen that I stole, as well as pics of some neat little eggy bird drawings made by yer pal, the Big Chicken (that would be me, and by the way, I wish that I didn't have to keep reminding you) but the drawings are for a neat new worldwide treasure-hunting activity that this one lady on the boat told me about called geo-caching.   I still need to look it up and learn how to do it, but am planning to get in the game.  After all, life is short.  And the race is on.

Employment with the Chicken

Hello there Ladies and Wheat Germs. Big Chicken here. Perhaps you noticed the darkly sinister, yet dashing and incredibly handsome shadow figure in the banner that my good chickie friend akgeezee made for z'blog header? If not, check it out because that is one rockin' banner as well as one fine dude. Didja look? Recognize me? I look pretty good, huh? Not to be blowing my own horn or anything, but the chicks really dig me.

Oh, hey, here's your daily Employment with the Chicken Update. We are not going to be hiring those Chicken Ghost Writers from yesterday, for a couple of reasons. One, they were both clearly much smarter than I am, and you know how I hate that. I don't care if it would be especially beneficial to employ smart people, I just can't do it right now.  Why?  Because of the second reason that I'm not hiring them which is because - you know what they wanted? Money. That's right. I was as shocked as you look (although still arguably much better looking). Anyhoo, during the course of the conversation, or "interview," rather (and here's a little reminder for you folks to just always be on your toes, because you never know when Big Chicken is gonna be watching or interviewing you. Nervous? You should be.  Because I am hitting the road and about to skate around the nation.  And I am bringing my poor punctuation with me.) the one guy asked how much the position paid. So I just fired that guy immediately.  During the job interview.

Listen, if you want to work for the chicken - read the job description. I just can't stress that enough, because I am a very busy bird.  I work hard to check out the chicks, and I simply do not, repeat, do not have the time to be discussing the conditions of employment here that were clearly stated once already in the job announcement. Just to be sure we're on the same page here, I do not have the time to spell out twice for you, or for any applicant, for that matter, the things that are already written once, that is to say, one time already, elsewhere on this blog. Now, where was I? And why the chicken suit? Ahhhh, eternal musings of a very fowl fellow, indeed.

This just in!

Word to the wise here, from your big, hunky chicken (that's right, ya'll, I am feeling a little cocky today), and that is: if you ever want to travel in the far far north and see things like the earth's electromagnetic field (or was it simply the magnetic field?), just go hang out with some smart people. I'm telling you, it works. Last night I went and hung out with some very smart people who first of all fed me and then I went and had some cake with some other very smart people and then I went back and this one smart person kicked my feathery butt in this one board game he created, which brings me to my next point, which is this: think twice before you play the person who created whatever game it is that's right in front of you, but especially if it is the brilliant blend of the ancients known as Chebache. (http://www.chebache.com/).

Okay, so then afterwards we went out to this one lake by this glacier where we watched the northern lights (a.k.a. the aurora borealis, and that only because we are viewing in the northern hemisphere) with this other very smart person who knew all of these things about the phenomenon and plus knew how to take these time-lapse photos that really showed the light nicely.  The scary part for your dear chicken was when the icebergs in the water made very loud noises that sounded like all the local bears were waiting right around the corner to EAT your chicken, and all I know is that somebody kept yelling and, while I know it wasn't me because I would never do that, I want you guys to know that whoever it was, you sounded like a girl.  Which was embarrassing for you.  So then, I was still hanging with my peeps out at the glacier viewing area where we watched lots of shooting stars and saw satellites, including one that flashed a few times, and then that one guy told that scary alien story that I still hate.   Not that I was scared or anything, but do you know how much noise one little porcupine can make in the underbrush at night?  It's like, shut up little quill-covered dude.  (No offense, porcupine, I was just scared, is all.  Don't poke me with that- Ow! Dude, that seriously hurt!  You gotta watch those things because they aren't playthings.  That's some serious weaponry you've got going there.)  So, as I was saying before, I was just hanging with my peeps, minding my own beeswax, when the cops rolled up and this very big, scary-looking patrolman in a freshly pressed (it seemed) uniform was all like, "Good evening."  That guy was so wrong already, because it was actually more like three in the morning.  Anyhow, then he had the nerve to be like, "How are you guys doing?"  Those public service people are always asking about your welfare, you know?  Anyhow, so the cops, yeah, they busted up our star-gazing party, being all like, "Hey, sorry you guys, because clearly you are not the types to be spray painting or vandalizing stuff, but the park closed at midnight," and then we were all like, "Oh, okay, sorry, we didn't know," and he was all like, "Okay."   Like, how did he know we weren't the type to cause trouble?  I mean, does he have any idea how corny and fowl-mouthed I can be?

So, yes, I fell into the clutches of some pretty smart people yesterday.  Because there was the smart person who made me a nice banner for the webpage, and there's another smart person who just communicated via email about the musical score for z'film.  Oh, and then he asked my thoughts about some writing thing, which just blows me away because I thought he had read this blog, but if he was asking my thoughts, then he obviously hasn't.  Unless, of course, this happens to be one of those situations where you pick the person that you really don't want to end up like, and you say something like, "So, uh, how eggsactly would you do this here thing?"

Listen, if you hang around long enough, and stick with us through this initial turbulence, one o' these days we are going to have a very very funny film for you. So follow zbigchicken, (that would be me) wherever he may roam, and please do so with the public "Follow" option if you can, so that the people who may help fund this endeavor can see how very popular I am and have some faith in the chicken.

By the by, you may notice the incredible length on this particular blog entry, and if you're wondering about the reason why, it's because I am going to be out of touch for the next two days, and I'm going to miss you!  Just kidding on that last part, because, in all reality, I'm sick to death of you guys by now and could really use a break from all the constant hounding.  Like that one chick in the bikini who keeps throwing herself at me.  Who is that?  And why is she here?  And, for that matter, why are any of us here?  Which brings us to the Contest of the Day!

ding ding ding ding ding ding ding

Hi Everyone, and Welcome to Big Chicken's Contest of the Day!

Today's contest is really very simple.  Today, we here at ztv (that's short for "zbigchicken television and intergalactic communications source code production studios, in association with the universally redundant executive producers in a far northern land mass on the third rock back from this, our particularly favorite sun" - so you can see why I chose to abbreviate it.  No?  Well, it's simple really, and that's because "zbigchicken television and intergalactic communications source code production studios, in association with the universally redundant executive producers in a far northern land mass on the third rock from this, our favorite sun" just takes too long to type.  Look, I know that I could use some hot cut and paste action here, but, really, I'm trying to keep this as basic as possible.  So, please get off my back, and while you're at it, pass the gravy.  Yeah, the chicken kind.  Why?  Because I like it.)

Hmm, where was I?  Oh, yes.  Contest.  Today's Contest for the Day is simple.  Write me a three page essay on the Meaning of Life.  All properly italicized, please.  You know how I hate the typical, straight up-and-down type of font.  So, or, hey, no, wait.  Don't make it a three-page essay, because I really don't wish to spend any more time than necessary sorting through you sordid comments.  Tell you what, shoot me an email and tell me in one word or less, the Meaning of Life.


That's Your Big Chicken Ya'll, at
zbigchicken at gmail dot com

(And thus started the corniest fabled Southern Migration of chicken ever seen in these here parts.)

Interviews and Banner

Hi there Everyone,

Big Chicken here with some great news. First, today I interviewed a couple of candidates for the Chicken Ghost Writer position I have hitherto advertised on my blog, except they probably didn't realize I was interviewing them for the job and, actually, I'm not sure if they were even aware of the position. Or if they've ever read my blog. Okay, that was a lie. I know for a fact that they've never read my blog before today, because I told them about it and then muscled them on over to my computer, where I made them stare at Vista*- long enough to read some of the words I've "published" on this here screen. Yes, that's right, Readers, I can at times be a real brute. But, do you know what? Chicks dig that. Dreadlocks, too, which is why I had my hair done yesterday.**  I'm seriously thinking about hiring these guys, though.

Second, today my very good chickie friend over at Who Knew? GeeZee (http://geezee-whoknew.blogspot.com/) made me this fancy-schmancy banner for z'blog.   Check it - this thing rocks so hard.

Thank you AKGeeZee. What does this mean for you, feathery reader? That you, too, can learn how to make a fancy banner over at that blog, and AKGeeZee will show you how, maybe even using the banner made for yours truly as a demo. So, why don't ya'll flock on over there, and follow AKGeeZee for a little while, and get off my blog, 'cause all the traffic is fowling up the air here.  (PS-AKGeeZee, can you help me with the size issue*** in the header?  Thanks-Z'Very Big C)




**Real chickens don't have hair. They have feathers, wattles, and a comb. If they're lucky, and not featherless, wattle-less, and or destitute.  And, as for the dreadlocks, be sure to check the Big Chicken Costume page for updates.  No, I haven't posted that pic yet, but I will.  So keep checking.   This is your responsibility now.  Don't make me say it again.

***Ladies-size is not, I repeat, NOT an issue.  The problem is that I can't get it up.  This banner thing.  The image for the header.  No, that's not true.  I got it up, but the problem is that I can't get it to fit.  I'M SERIOUS, YOU GUYS.  Stop that.  Look, I'll just tweak the settings or something.

*-I love Vista, and I don't care what anyone says.  I am a strong, handsome, dashing, brute of a chicken, and I can openly say that I love my computer (a.k.a. my "notebook," though I am old school and still call it a laptop) and that I love Vista.  More than I love life itself.  Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I do enjoy working with Vista on my laptop notebook.  So, take that, Smart People.

Which finally leads us to Big Chicken's Question of the Day:
Can anyone truly be funny on Monday?  If you answered yes to that question, or you know someone who did, please email me for a chance to interview for the coveted position of Chicken Ghost Writer.  Thanks.

Sincerely,
Your Soon-To-Be-Sipping-Tall-Glasses-Of-Cool-Cool-Milk-While-Some-Schmoe-Does-My-Work-For-Me,
Chicken

Tell my secretary to hold my calls.  Both of them.

zbigchicken at gmail dot com

People Who Read My Blog Get Laid!

Big Chicken here. Someone I know posted a comment on my blog that never made it through, so, if you've posted a comment and don't see it here when you go a'looking for it, email and I'll take a look-see, find out if it actually came through. Don't know what to tell you if it didn't, but would still look around for you, since I have so valiantly and hitherto pledged to do my part to make up for all that I've done and subjected you to here thus far.

Now, for your Sunday funnies. I am going to try to be funny today, but seeing as how I am tired (as usual) and didn't sleep well last night (and no, it wasn't because of that one reason that we all hope it will be when we think of sleepless nights, and I just thought of a really gross joke but I won't post it on here because, as I said before, I am trying to keep this thing rated PG because otherwise nobody would be able to read it because my language can normally be quite fowl. Think I'm kidding? I don't give a cluck what you think. Now, get out of my way, please, I am trying to be funny here.  Trying too hard, apparently, but since I'm willing to play the fool, then it's really only embarrassing for you. I think I can live with that.

As for the fowl humor - it's all my muse's fault, really.  This whole lack of good humor on a Sunday morn. I've lost my inspiration, lost my spirit, can barely find it within me to face another day without the constant barrage of insults from that one especially talented chick. Maybe I should have paid her for it. No, I'm not like Craigslist! I'm just saying, if you don't pay a person for their efforts, they're going to need to go out and get a job {ick} that will pay them the green paper thingies they need to keep their lights on in the truck they're living in.

Which brings me to my point for today. So, hello, once again, Ladies, Gentlemen, and Corporate Entities Considered to Have the Same Rights as a Person [aka CECHSRPs], and welcome to Big Chicken's Point for Today*, on Sunday. The last Sunday, September the twelfth that we expect to see this year. Actually, now that I think about it, this is the only Sunday, September the twelfth, two thousand ten that we ever expect to see real-time, which reminds me, I need to post that one funny blog-entry that I have written in my notebook and which involves a lot of technical jargon regarding time travel, a phenomenon that I have finally proven. That's right, humble, handsome chicken that I am, I done went and proved me some time travel. So, boo-yah. Fools. Haha, maybe when I tell you about it, I'll break it down nice and slow, so you can hopefully follow me - ow! Hey, who threw that? Listen, friend, did you just drop a rotten tomato? Because I just now found one and it was on my face. And plus, you don't need to fleck it with staples, I get your point. So don't be mean to the chicken.

Your,
Freshly Grazed Chicken

PS-Remember the exclamation point from the title of Today's Blog Entry? Or, the Captain's Blog, as I like to call it. Haha, oh, that's funny. My one friend who likes that one show is going to love it. I just made that up, but let's go have a look-see, find out if it's already been used before, because something that funny and referential [I just made that word up*-] MUST have been done by now. Just a sec....Okay, yeah, that one's been done. A lot. Like that one friend of mine. The one that everybody likes so much. Hmmmmm.

Oh, yes, exclamation point. I put that there today to serve two purposes. Firstly, to get your attention, ya boob. It makes the title look like a promise that if you come here, we're gonna have us some fun!

Secondly, today I, in all my daring, am using that straight-line-with-a-dot-at-the-bottom-mark as a substitute for my ever-popular asterisk in order to indicate a footnote. The footnote being: this is false advertising. Well, not really, because, literally, people who read my blog DO get laid. And I know this because personally I have laid at least one of them. Okay, two. The part that I'm lying about is the implication that you might get laid because you read my blog. I wish that I didn't have to spell this out for you, because it is tiresome* and all, but if you're reading this blog, then it is really obvious that you need my help. Speaking of which, please buy a theater ticket, because I really need your help. We need each other, don't you see?  It's a cycle.

*I literally stole this word from one guy I know. So, note to that guy: Just stick it on my tab, bub. 'Cause I think we all know by now that I am never gonna be paying on that thing anyway.  BTW, I'll take that invoice any day now.

*I forgot what the Point for Today was.  Could someone remember that for me, please?  Thanks.)***

***Big Chicken's Contest for the Day!  ding ding ding ding - Find the parenthetical!  That's right folks, the first person who finds both the start and end words of Today's Parenthetical will win!  The usual prize.  That is, space enough on my blog for your name, should you choose the indignity.

*-I thought I just made that word up, because it sure sounded fake, but apparently, it has been done before.  Which brings me to the question of the day, and that is: can't this chicken be original?

Big Chicken Gets Laid

Numerous times.  In my daydreams alone. 

Hey, does anyone out there ever score for real?  'Cause I always thought it was like this make-believe place that chicks talked about, and everybody laughed about, but nobody ever actually went there because it ain't really real.  Like it was this made-up place.  Like Las Vegas.  And thank goodness!  I mean, what if I some chick actually did talk to me?  What would I do?  Run, probably.  What if she talked to me and I had food in my teeth?  (I know that I don't have teeth, but still, it's a valid fear.)  What if my breath was stinky?  What if my body odor was fowl?  (Hint: my body odor is always fowl.)  What if someone saw some chick talking to me and then I said something stupid and then she said, "Why are you saying something so stupid?  Why are you so stupid?  And ugly?" And then, what if that pretend person who was watching our pretend conversation saw her, that one really fine chick, dissin' me like that*, and then saw me being all crushed by some mighty blow and then everybody in the coffee shop laughed at me and said, "OMG, Big Chicken, how could you even go over and talk to her with that big piece of garlic-flavored grub stuck in your front teeth (which, as we established before, couldn't really happen, but still, if I'm gonna be scared of stuff, I need to at least be honest about what that stuff might be), and BTW, Big C, you stink!"

And, I know these things happen all the time because I read those trending topics on Twitter where all those peeps are tweeting these big-time insults where they make fun of people because of how they look and possibly because of the clothes they wear (so it's a good thing I have nothing on under these feathers, at least they can't make fun of me for that), or because perhaps they accidentally expressed some emotion or something totally lame like that, something that no chicken in their right mind would ever do, and especially not in public.  Are you kidding me?  That would be crazy.

So, yeah, I get laid.  All the time.  In my daydreams.  Like I said before.

This is your Big Chicken, saying, if you purchase a Cyber-Chicken Theater Ticket, you too might get laid.**

**Not because you bought the ticket, but because I guess your chances on that are about as good as anyone else's, on any given day, but especially on Fridays, because, after all, isn't that what the weekends are for?  Not that I would know.  Still, buy the ticket and then tell me later if you did, in fact, get lucky.  Because I think we all know that I'm not gonna be seeing any of that sort of action in my own life, which is why I so desperately need the stories from my friends.  Thank you.  All both of you.

zbigchicken at gmail dot com

*Phrases like that tend to date the Big Chicken.  Which is a good thing, since the chicks ain't.  Datin' the chicken.  Look, it's a play on words.  Perhaps not a good one, admittedly, but still, why don't you try doing this every day, Mr. (or Ms., as-the-case-may-be) Bigshot, and see how creative you can be?  And then, apply for my formerly announced position of Chicken Ghost Writer.  thx.

Do Big Chickens Get Tattoos?

Why, yes, they do. Henna ones. And piercings. Big Chickens loooooove piercings. Just ask the proprietor over at Forbidden Piercings, (http://forbiddenpiercings.com/) he'll tell you.  By the by, could someone please tell me what exactly a "piercing" is?  I figured it had something to do with clip-on jewelry, but then when I went over there to that website and looked at the sale items, some of those things looked a little pointy, so I was concerned about getting too close to them.  Not that I'm chicken or anything!  I just have some reservations.  (Speaking of which, could someone call to verify my reservations for the southern migration, please?  thx)

Back to tattoos.  I thought I could get some "body art," since everybody else seems to be doing it, and plus I don't want to look like a chicken, but still, the one guy that I talked to about it, that one guy who had all of the elaborate skulls and demons and war scenes all over his head and chest said that he would first need to pluck my tail feathers and then shave me if I wanted an image of a cute little jellyfish on my bum, so, needless to say, I am not going to be getting one of those, there.  At least, not at this point in time.  Course, after I've had a few glasses of milk, there's really no telling what I may do.  (Or where I'll wake up, for that matter.)  Although it would be really cool to get that tattoo there because I could start out with something small and then, as I age and parts of my anatomy, namely my belly and bum, grow, then one day that little baby jelly-fish would stretch out and grow and really look like one of those fabled though rarely seen monsters of the deep.  Why am I getting so hungry?  All this talk of jellyfish, maybe.

Thinking I may just go with my original plan of the Google Blogger Stats Overview Page in miniature on my face after all, since I wouldn't have to get anything plucked on my bum, but I really want to get that done before next week because I have a job interview and want to look my best when I (hopefully) start work at the office supply store.

Your Magnificently Ornamented with Permanent Color and Design,
C

PS-Please tell that one guy over at the website I mentioned that I sent you.  That way maybe he'll send me some nice clip-on "piercing" ornaments.

Oh, and please, buy a Cyber-Chicken Theater Ticket!  Here on my blog.  Thanks.

Big Chicken's Lesson for Today

Hi you guys!

Big Chicken here, running late today on the posting process.  Been trying to wrap my noggin' around the complexities involved in copyrighting artistic work.  That's right viewer, you heard me.  This work right here?  It's "artistic."  Which is kind of embarrassing for a big, tough, strong chicken like me who could crush you in any board game but especially "_______."*   And, to prove to all of you just how tough I really am, I am going to share with you a fowl bumper sticker idea that I had this morning.  Well, I would, except I just Googled the phrase and found out that some ninny out there has already used it, although in another context, not as a bumper sticker, but still, I am not going to put it on here and all, even though I did think of it, because someone else already thought of that one first, but please, "___________", if you ever read this, I would just like to ask permission from you to use the phrase "cl___ o___ and fl_" in a funny bumper-sticker-related blog piece.

Listen, it's raining, and my neck hurts, and that one chick over there by the window here at the coffee shop is not even giving me the time of day, which is really depressing and I just want to wrap things up for now and go home.**

**Nobody ever said making stuff up was gonna be easy.*-

*-  Who just said that?


Hello folks, Big Chicken here with your Lesson for Today and that is this: there's gonna be some work involved, no matter what you do.  I know.  I hate it, you hate it, we all hate that crap, but it's just the way the ball bounces.  So you might as well do what you love, because life is short and might as well be tweet, too.  Who am I to give advice, you ask? (Could someone punctuate the prior sentence for me please?)  Why, I am the one who made a big mess of things, of course, which is why I take the time out of my obviously busy schedule to give advice to you,  the same person I am asking for money.  Do you see a correlation?  Let me spell it out for you, because we established long ago that you so desperately need the help.  The chickens who sit on mountaintops and bus benches and blogspots and who bestow unsolicited advice to strangers are usually the ones who messed up pretty bad in the first place.  So, I guess the real Lesson for Today is this, and that is: don't heed Big Chicken's Lesson for Today.  Which is a pretty big lesson, in and of itself.

*Also, I could crush you in golf, or basketball.  And that, even in skates. 

Disturbing Trends RE: Chicken

Today I was reading through my blog and became increasingly more aware of a disturbing new trend in my behavior, which is the marked increase in follow-through.  Like this morning, for instance: I said (or typed, rather) that I would post for you the transcripts of my famed and famous Craigslist ads.  So then, what did I do later today?  And not too long ago?  I posted those ads.

Yeah.  Even though I specifically said in my very first entry that I would do it tomorrow, or maybe today (HINT: the italicized word is a hallmark of Procrastinators everywhere).  So, even though I left myself wide-open, with plenty of leeway, I went ahead and followed through today, and do you know what?  I can't keep going on like this.  I can't keep up with this charade any longer.  So, I'll just admit it now, even though it may make me seem like less of a tough-guy: I'm a closet list-maker.

That's right.  I write down the things I need to do.  And then I do them.  I know!  I'm not entirely proud of that fact, either, but do you know what?  I don't always follow-through, so, really, it's not all that bad.  Some things I even mark off without doing just because I get sick of looking at 'em.  Like this one from two weeks ago: "pay credit card bill."  Who ever does that crap anyway?

Needed! Stats Tattoo and Chicken Ghost Writer

**You may have noticed the advertisement-type title for today's post. This is due to the recent "issues" with Craigslist, a list that I happen to be rather fond of, and perhaps even love, although I generally only say things like that about my notebook.*

I have decided to get a tattoo of the Google Blogger Stats Overview page, the one with the neat page-view chart, traffic source info, and world map, on my face. I haven't told Mom yet, because I had promised her that if I ever got a tattoo that it would be of a big egg with "Mom" on it, somewhere around my upper wing, but now I won't have enough dough for both that and the Google Blogger Stats Overview page. Maybe I'm spending too much time there, on the stats page. You know what I did see was some traffic from the Ukraine. That's pretty neat. So far, we've had visitors from the U.S., Canada, Trinidad and Tobago, and now the Ukraine. I only wish that I had room on my forehead for detailed schematics*** of each and every visitor's nation for the world map portion of the tattoo. As it is, I think it's all going to need to be done in miniature, which will be very time-consuming and which leads me up to my Point for Today, which is this-

Big Chicken's Point for Today*-

Hello page-viewers, and welcome to Big Chicken's Point for Today, where our specialty, as you may have garnered by now, is redundancy. That's right, saying the same thing in multiple ways, or sometimes saying the same thing in the same way, just multiple times, which, if I've learned anything at all from all of those mandatory communication and professional development classes my employer keeps sending me to, it's that other people and flightless fowls are usually a little "challenged" and desperately need my sage advice. Now, I know what you're thinking: sage is a vital herb in a good chicken stuffing. I would agree with you, but that would just be barbaric and, as I said before, I am more fond of the gravy, which is weird, so we won't go there today because it generally brings up feelings of confusion and angst and I can't afford therapy right now, so I'd probably end up talking it out with the ducks over at the pond again and I don't know if you've ever tried talking to a flock of birds in a public place while you're wearing a chicken suit, although if I had to guess, I would say that you probably have, I mean, who hasn't, but still, it doesn't always go over too well with the general public. Which is an awful way to start any day, but especially Wednesdays (a.k.a. "humpday," my favorite day of the week, and that only because of the nickname).

Now, regarding my point. I, your Big Chicken, will not be available for several days next week as I am beginning the first portion of my fabled southern migration, and I know that you're going to miss my daily musings, which is why I need your help. What I need for you to do is to send me a cute assistant-slash-chicken-ghost-writer who can not only travel with me but also do my work for me. Please only send a cute one, although I don't wish to come off as shallow, because really, at this point, anyone will do. Not that I'm desperate. Or lonely. (Please do not refer to the Date-O-Rama post, as it was comprised of lies, all lies, made up by some fly-by-night chicken ghost writer who just swooped in, laid a big one on me, and flew the coop the next day. Can you believe how many fowl references and expressions can be made with the English language?)

Which reminds me, do you realize, because I just have, that learning another language is going to take quite a lot of work? I know, I was as surprised as you look (oh, don't think I haven't noticed that dazed, vacuous stare you keep throwing my way), but it's true. Never fear though, feathery reader, because I have the utmost confidence that we can learn to speak Chinese together if you will just do my work for me.

Thank you. As ever, I remain,
Your Big Chicken
(who is evidently trying too hard this morning)

*That's right, folks, I started the posting process out with an asterisk-ed remark today. How do ya like them apples? Whatever that means. (FYI, I like mine buggy and with worms.)

***We're going to start a new contest, the Big Chicken Mis-used Word of the Day. So, whenever you see some cute little word wandering around on my blog, clearly lost and/or totally out of context, call me, and then you'll win. Just don't approach the word unless you have prior training or direct relevant experience, because they can get a little disoriented when they're used out of context and may even bite. So, watch out. Better yet, just call a professional.*-*

*-My point for today, which I was trying to get to and would have but you kept interrupting me, was that I am going to be out of touch for a few days next week. Don't worry, though, because do you remember how I said up there that I "l%!#" Craigslist? Well, it's true and tell you what I think I'll do is just create a page on this here blog and copy over the crazy ads that I posted last month that got this whole chicken skate thing to roll. I should be able to do that particular task tomorrow, or maybe later today, although you should probably wait until next week, when I'm gone, to read them.

*-*Contest Rules: Professional Word-Wranglers are not eligible to play or win.