Chicken Hell

Chicken. Hell. Chicken Hell. I am in Chicken Hell.

I know this because the only thing in our freezer is chicken. I know for certain I am in hell-- temperatures swirl at 105*, lest not forget it "feels like 107*". So that certainly means hell? Yes.

King Ralph went to the grocery store last evening for his own fruition. He returned with $140 of light, fat free, low or no cholesterol food options--rices, yogurts, ramen noodles (in a variety of flavors)...the only produce he managed to toss in the cart was blueberries and green grapes... and chicken. He actually suggested I toss the Popsicles to make room for the chicken. CHICKEN-CHICKEN-CHICKEN.

I am beginning to emanate chicken from my pores. My girls have sprung the beginnings of a beak. As the King's cholesterol lowers our feet are morphing into web. I no longer yell at my girls, I cluck. No need to shave we preen.

I am in chicken hell. Cholesterol-free-chicken-hell.

I had a break down, like Tim Allen's character in Wild Hogs, I mashed potatoes and drowned them in butter barely escaping my desire to literally eat the stick whole.

Last night I binged on brownies my friend baked me. I couldn't decide how many I should stop with on my binge...and I was not about to go "super-model" after the binge, I was keeping them--all four. I need a mixer for the chicken. I need fat grams.

I am to the point of chicken hell where my dreams are certain to turn nightmare--Colonel Sanders chasing me with a butcher knife and a bowl of his original recipe seasoning.

God save the chicken. Save me!