Chik or Treet

Make her stop.

 

Psst!      Hey You!    It’s ME!    BUC!

Chicker-Treet. Smell My Feet. Gimme Candy Corn to Eat.
Party City really stepped up its game for October 31st

I was reminiscing about Fall of 2017.

That Mother of the Clucker dressed me up like some giant red-meat goof in October.  She was getting on my last nerve after that “Hurricane Irma” thing, and that whole “I gotta be me” thing.

Gawd can that lady talk. I hope someone videotaped her jabbering on and on to her giant metal chicken while trying to fit this costume on my huge butt feathers.

Please. Help Me. 

Someone needs to “borrow” this itchy bovine suit from her and “forget” to return it… if you’re pickin’ up what I’m layin’ down.

I want to be a Fairy next time. And I got a punkin fulla Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for whoever is willing to assist!

cease and desist on the trademarked fast food maker font
Help the Mother of the Clucker Get. A. Life.   This Cannot Go on much longer.

 

 

 

 

 

Chicken Scratch

Who buys Necco Wafers anymore? This Chick.

I’m not a doctor but I play one when writing long-hand.

Who buys Carpet Flesh and Necco Wafers in the same trip?
Cursive. The Lost Art.

Don’t worry. This is not a rant about cursive writing in public school. It’s about the one activity I dislike more than anything. SHOPPING.

That’s right, friends. I lost my Girl Card a long time ago. I don’t shop, I buy. I don’t browse. I get recommendations and click. If I don’t get my socks knocked off by the time I reach the second aisle, my cart and I roll outa there.

My local Publix is playing Disco. That’s about the only thing that keeps me coming back. Well. That and the free wine samples on Saturday at lunch time. NOW I get it. “Publix. Where Shopping is a Pleasure.” TM

Which reminded me of last Saturday. Here’s my list. I think I wet myself when I re-read item #6. Minor detail. Carpet Flesh. ewww.

You can’t be my friend if you’re saying ‘ewww’ to item #7. PS, Necco HQ is Hiring.

Licorice is best
Historic Treat for America’s Armed Forces

 

 

 

 

My Year as a Politically Active Chicken

Go Get Me a Chicken. Please.

My brand spankin new yard art
This was stuffed into the back seat of a Subaru Forester with my sister.

I make myself laugh. Daily.

But no one made me laugh as hard as my friend Carol when she sent me Jenny Lawson’s Bloggess post, And that’s why you should learn to pick your battles.

I have been known to decorate my living spaces in the “early eighties garage sale” theme. And when I passed an artsy-fartsy shoppe on West Bay in Largo, Florida featuring giant roosters on their sidewalk, I hadda have one.

Here’s how that went down:

  1. I tell my flexible husband I found the perfect birthday gift. For Me.
  2. As we pass the artsy-fartsy shoppe, I point it out, clapping gleefully.
  3. My flexible husband stomps on the gas, and says I’ve lost my mind.

By now you’ve guessed I got my chicken. And the lore and joy this hunk of junk has brought me has to documented.  You’re welcome.