Kentucky Fried Rat

A guy picks up a bucket of chicken. He takes it home, turns on the game, settles back, digs in. And soon he discovers that one of his pieces of chicken is really a Kentucky fried rat.

I hear a story like that on the news and I really get upset. I say to myself, “What a lucky sonuvabitch!” How come nothing like that ever happens to me? I suppose one reason I never find a Kentucky fried rat in a bucket of chicken is because I never buy a bucket of chicken. But that’s because every time I’ve bought a bucket of chicken all I’ve ever gotten is chicken. That’s the kind of rotten luck I have.

Biting into a Kentucky fried rat would cause me some serious PTSD sure enough. Imagine the nightmares. But it would also turn my pupils into dollar signs. I’ve gotten to the point where my retirement investment strategy consists solely of finding a Kentucky fried rat and suing that Colonel’s sorry ass from here to Toledo! Screw IRAs. It’s too late for that for me. My only hope for a financially comfy old age is to invest in a KFR.

Because otherwise all I’ll have coming to me is my pissy little cripple Social Security check. I know there are millions of cripples who get by for decades being broke ass on Social Security. But I’ve never been very good at being a starving cripple or a starving artist or a starving anything. Give me pizza or give me death. The broke assiest of the broke ass cripples who live on Social Security get like $600 a month. How the hell do they do it? I guess they live the perpetual college student lifestyle, minus all the getting laid. They eat a lot of Ramen noodles and tater tots and ketchup sandwiches (open faced).

And if some right wing morons had their way, we wouldn’t even have Social Security anymore. They would privatize the hell out of it. They’d turn the administration of the Social Security program over to the casinos. At the beginning of each month, every cripple gets a roll of quarters and their choice of playing any unoccupied slot machine. And if the cripple hits it big, bully for them! It just proves once again that in America, hard work and perseverance pay off! And if the cripple doesn’t hit it big, oh well. Try harder next time.

But if I end up being a broke ass cripple, at least there’s a bright side. Broke ass cripples have to eat a lot of cheap fast food, which will significantly increase my odds of finding a Kentucky fried rat. I just wish there was a way for me to find a Kentucky fried rat without eating all that damn chicken, just like I’m trying to figure out how to win the lottery without buying a ticket.  It doesn’t even have to be a rat. I’d be just as thrilled to discover a wingnut in my Taco Bell burrito or a syringe in my bag of Doritos. As long as I get sue a humongous corporation, I’m not picky.