Lonely Chicken

Good Morning World,

Unless you happen to reside in a different time zone, in which case, I bid to you good day.

Your,
Big Chicken

(uh, Mr. Big Chicken, sir, that was too brief for a show)

Oh, alright, fine, I will get up and get back to work.

Hello Again, Nimble Page-Viewers:

You may have noticed that I, your amazingly suave and debonair chicken, have hired an assistant. A very cute and bubbly and very, very helpful assistant. Page-Viewers, this is Parenthetical. Parenthetical, Page-Viewers. Say "Hi" to the viewers, Parenthetical.

(Hi to the viewers)

I've always wanted an assistant who would do what I say. Now, as for the rest of the show, I am wiped out from trying to be funny this morning, and will just have to go back to bed now and wrack my poor feathered brain for some more ideas about what might elicit a giggle from my bouncy secretarial-type assistant.**

Seriously Quitting Early This Time,
Your Big Chicken.
So lay off.

**Oh, alright, I didn't really hire a bubbly, secretarial-type assistant named Parenthetical. I just made that up. I know that lying makes me an awful person. I'm sorry! It's just that I'm so lonely. Do you know what it's like? Being a big chicken? Always feeling like an outcast? Like no other man out there understands what it's like to want to wear brightly colored feathers? Or cluck all the time? Or squawk very loudly and flap my arms while roller-skating around? It's like, nobody understands me, and it just makes me sad is all.*** Well, that and lonely. Sigh.

*You know that one viewer that I used to have the witty banter with? Well, of course you don't, because you weren't in on the email "loop" and I never wrote about it here, but I sure do miss that viewer, because that particular viewer sure was terribly smart and funny and I really hope that they haven't entirely flown the coop or anything, because I understand that sometimes the complexities of life get in the way and everything and that this obviously is not the right time to resume witty banter but still, I was just missing that one chickie friend some and wanted to say so out loud, but I couldn't, because I can't talk, which is why I typed it and published it here online instead.

***Real chickens don't have feelings. That's what gizzards are for. Seriously. It's like this little compartmentalized thingy that functions as both an organ for grinding food, when used in conjunction with little bits of ingested sand, as well as for stuffing uncomfortable emotions such as loneliness. Which is the real reason why chickens undertake the perilous, annual southern migration: because they miss their friends when they are so very far from home. And another thing, don't be calling me up all the time telling me how much you miss me and how you're really sad I left for so long in the first place, and how glad you're gonna be when I get home and we can do potluck-slash-game-night when we are so totally going to dominate those geeks who thought they had the best chicken salad ever, which is still rather disturbing to me, although I'm willing to let that slide because they did also bring the nice dip for the chips, and you know what a sucker I am for corn. Well, that and grubs. Why hasn't anyone brought grubs to the potluck yet, is what I'm wondering. And don't tell me it's because they're in short supply, because I can tell you right now where to go to get them, and it's here. http://alabamawigglers.com/ *-
So, if you think I'm hinting some about what it is that I want for Christmas this year, you're right. And, if you think I'm getting you the same thing I got you last year, which was a fancy box of "nothing" wrapped in last Sunday's comics, then you would be right again, my fair feathered "friend."  Except this year, I ain't wrapping it.

*-Can someone tell me how to make a link live in a blog post? Seriously, do my work for me. Thanks.  Nevermind.  Found it.  Always doing your work for you.