To mock Michael Bluth’s hobbledehoyishness?
To cannibalize another chicken? (They are mean and nasty, you know, and jurassically stupid.)
They cross the road to get rubbed and smoked on the regs.
And to get chopped in half.
And to get eaten.
With some greens.
And some slaw.
And a beer and a shot.
It’s what’s for dinner.
And if it’s Happy Hour, we do ‘em slider style, too.
Barbecued smoked chicken: It’s about as vegan as we get.
*Man, that really is kinduva funny word, ain’t it?