Chickens Of Privilege
And What I Learned From Them
Polls tell us that in reincarnation cultures, fewer than .0001% want to return as a chicken. It’s not an idle prejudice. Do you like sleeping in and hitting the snooze button? Sorry! Every single morning you will be blasted awake at 4 AM by Cocks – the poultry name for Dicks—who are living bagpipes who sound on their best day like Yoko Ono with sinusitis doing whale calls. You will then be forced to race around outside– rain, sleet, or snow — like you’re being chased by boogie men with hard-ons who look like Joe Biden. Stand in one place, and you’ll likely be pecked to death. Breakfast is pellets, and crap goats won’t eat. If chickens were the size of kangaroos, their breath alone would make the cow fart climate crisis seem like the good old days. As it is, your fellow fowl are called fowls because they shit everywhere all the time, no matter how sacred the place or how solemn the occasion.
You have one job: laying eggs. Roosters can’t or won’t lay eggs, but if this sounds like a positive, consider…
As a Rooster, you will be expected to have sex with what are, after all, tiny-faced creatures with tinier brains and bad breath. Too, you are supposed to keep order in The Flock –rule the roost—because the tiny-faced creatures with tinier brains and bad breath will peck each other to death if left alone. But the biggest joke of all? As a Rooster, you must protect The Flock from predators. And how precisely are you expected to do that? You have a bulky bagpipe-shaped body, the pointy end of what looks like a # 2 pencil growing out of your face, and toenails at the end of short, skinny legs.
It’s a ridiculous myth that roosters are fierce combatants because cockfighting has been banned in all fifty states. Worth noting there’s no such ban on Cock vs. Squirrel fighting, Cock vs. Fox fighting, or Cocks vs. Walmart Greeter fighting because Cocks, aka Roosters, would be torn apart by anything with teeth or removable dentures. In fact, the only reason cockfighting was banned at all was because women got the vote and decided men were spending too much time watching, drinking, and betting on “the sport.” But if you’re a chicken, a harsher truth is this:
As bad as the above might seem, this is the life of “free-range chickens” or Chickens of Privilege. Of the 33 billion or so chickens—the last time they counted—these are in the top one-hundredth of one percent.
Most chickens live about two months in cages, then their throats are slit, and they’re dipped in an electric bath. The most they can aspire to is ending up a nugget or wing in a Popeye or KFC commercial.
Wait just a minute, you might say.
Didn’t America watch Jogku the Chicken playing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star on the piano on the Jimmy Kimmel show? Yes, but that chicken is like the Madame Curie of chickens. Even so: No one should take seriously her book, “How I’d Deal With Israel.” That was written by a Democrat-funded Celebrity PR firm staffed by Millennials. Take it from me—i.e. someone who has lived with chickens for six months– geopolitical solutions are not something chickens debate around the coop. Ponder that the next time you’re putting together a reincarnation wish list.