I love animals (primarily steak and fried chicken), and I’m kindhearted. Although I don’t have a pet at the time, I do have a grand-cat and a couple of grand-dogs. That’s my grand-cat Mr. Bojangles Coleman in the picture with his person.
Speaking of PETA, do you remember this woman? She was downtown a few years ago all painted u
p like a tiger. Didn’t some guy (right in front of the news cameras) walk up and start eating a cheeseburger?That was really awesome. If I knew who he was, I’d buy him a big double cheeseburger.
Did you know that Ricky Williams of the Dolphins is a vegetarian and big in PETA? I knew he liked green leafy stuff, and I'll bet he can make some great brownies, but I didn't know he had gone that far.
PETA is big on protecting all animals, particularly the edible ones (and in Louisiana that doesn’t leave too many out of the loop).
I have to admit that in addition to eating the fowl, in my younger days I was complicit in the murder of quite a few chickens. My Uncle Lewis (who had a wooden leg) would chase a bird around the chicken yard and when he caught it would wring its neck. Then it would run around, usually in circles, headless, for a few minutes. My cousins and I, about 8 or 10 of us, would be hanging onto the chickenwire fence watching in awe. “Kill another one, Uncle Lewis!”, and he usually did.
My grandfather had two nails driven into a stump in the chicken yard. He would place the unlucky bird’s head between the nails and dispatch it with his little hatchet. Then the chicken, in true form, would run around in circles for a couple of minutes before plopping over.
They sure tasted good fried up for lunch, which we called dinner in those days. Supper was at night. Ah, those were the good old days.
Oh, by the way - neuter and spay.
PETA is big on protecting all animals, particularly the edible ones (and in Louisiana that doesn’t leave too many out of the loop).
I have to admit that in addition to eating the fowl, in my younger days I was complicit in the murder of quite a few chickens. My Uncle Lewis (who had a wooden leg) would chase a bird around the chicken yard and when he caught it would wring its neck. Then it would run around, usually in circles, headless, for a few minutes. My cousins and I, about 8 or 10 of us, would be hanging onto the chickenwire fence watching in awe. “Kill another one, Uncle Lewis!”, and he usually did.
My grandfather had two nails driven into a stump in the chicken yard. He would place the unlucky bird’s head between the nails and dispatch it with his little hatchet. Then the chicken, in true form, would run around in circles for a couple of minutes before plopping over.
They sure tasted good fried up for lunch, which we called dinner in those days. Supper was at night. Ah, those were the good old days.
Oh, by the way - neuter and spay.
