jr conlin's ink stained banana

i'm not sure, exactly, what a chicken ever did to us to deserve the continuing acts of chickoside Anne Marie and i seem to be willing to inflict, but we do seem to be taking every possible step to promote the end of the Gallus line.

Anne Marie routinely enjoys a morning hard boiled egg (even though i can't stand the smell of the things), scrambled egg, or other egg based item. i, myself, have concocted hundreds of ways to render a bird tasty, and seem to take no end in pleasure to do so. About the only way i won't dine on the dorking is in a cacciatore, but i blame that on the fact that i ate plenty of it growing up.

Today, it's roast Rocky, cooked on the grill slightly longer than it probably should have because i was an idiot and didn't hear the alarm, my wife telling me about the alarm notice that it had been on longer than it probably should. It's not chicken flambe, and actually looks quite good, all nice and golden brown, but i'm betting some portions are probably drier than Anne Marie will like. Fine, i'll eat them, for that's the reason God made Barbeque sauce.

i'm sure that somewhere along the line, someone will probably discover that consuming more than one chicken based meal a week causes cancer, abrupt feather growth, or the tendency to be found pecked and scratched to death in some Delaware back alley. But until that day comes, save me a breast, will you?