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.