The Devil Made Me Do It: A Chicken Story

Oh, you know not the horrors I've seen. That's right folks, horrors. There is no better word to describe the bloody carnage that I have been witness to this day. Unless of course you consider slimy, raw, fatty, livery, naked, and hopelessly fleshy worthwhile descriptors.

It all started yesterday afternoon at the grocery store. Apparently, I didn't get the weekly ad informing the general public that the Devil himself would be working the meat counter at the local Safeway grocery store. What? You didn't see him? Well that is because he was in hiding; sneakily watching all the poultry buyers from a safe distance. I do believe I caught a glimpse of him cowering behind a pork tenderloin.

You see, the Devil is tricky and brought several poultry demons with him. Before I knew what had happened, one of those unholy little demons did a number on me. Yes, that's right, I was suddenly suffering from the "why, I should buy a whole raw chicken" demon curse. It is a nasty one folks. Be warned.

Now, anyone who knows me, or simply reads my blog regularly (I'm sure there is someone), knows that I have a completely rational and healthy fear of whole raw chickens. In case you missed it, you can read the whole story here.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in my kitchen, palms sweating, stomach churning, starring at the "wholest", "rawest" chicken that had ever set foot within my home. I started to have flashbacks of those dancing chicken commercials. I could just see that nasty little bird getting up on its legs and doing the electric slide across my kitchen counter. From there, I envisioned the chicken doing Kung Fu, using it's little wings to knock me clear across the kitchen. I may have gotten carried away.

"Alright, you can do this," I told myself as I neared the creature. Mind you, at this point I haven't yet taken it out of the bag. It's a good thing I didn't know what would occur next or I would never have gone any further.

I reached into the bag and started pulling out the chicken. So far so good. As the back end (front end?) of the chicken emerged, with it, so did a rancid little something or another. Could someone please tell me what the heck this thing is and what it was doing mingling with my chicken??? At this point, I am fairly convinced it is a gym sock. Possibly one of those sweat bands that you wear around your wrist when doing hours of strenuous exercise. Something I would obviously know oodles about.


"Alright, gross little unidentifiable cloth thing. Whatever. I can do this. Next, I must simply reach into the bird and pull out the little bag of giblets." No problem.


Oh. My. Word.

Bag?!?! Hello?! Bag, where have you gone?!?! What's that? You say you ditched these nasty chicken innards and have taken off for Vegas? Oh, of course. I don't blame you one bit as these chicken innards are possibly the most horrifying that I have seen in all my life. What is even more horrifying is that I must now do something with them.


This is the point at which I dry heaved for fifteen minutes in my kitchen as one organ after another emerged from the hollow pit in our dinner. Are you kidding me?!?! People actually do this?? Why? This chicken cost me $7.49. I can buy a rotisserie chicken, already de-gutted and cooked, for less than $7.00. Is that not the easier option?! I am clearly a fool. A dry heaving, gut-pulling, chicken flesh rubbing fool. There is just no reason for this.


Hubs, I hope you are reading this. I hope you enjoy this evenings chicken. I hope you savor every last bite, for it is the last whole, raw, disgusting chicken that your wife is ever going to prepare. Ever.

I, on the other hand, will likely be feasting on a peanut butter sandwich as the good Lord himself would have to work a mighty miracle to get me to put one piece of that bird in my mouth.

Updates to follow.