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.
