The Tale of My Dangerous Dinner

Hello folks, let’s chat…I had something very scary happen to me the other evening. Through no fault of my own, I found myself in possession of a chicken tender with a remarkable resemblance to a handgun. Swallowing hard, I considered how best to handle the potentially explosive situation.

Fortunately, I was traveling alone. As far as I knew, the fierce fryer had not been served to me as part of a sting operation from the drive-in window of that participating restaurant, but these days, you just can’t be too careful. Besides, it had only been a few days since the notorious Maryland Pop Tart Menace had been captured and suspended from second grade when it was discovered that he had bitten his pop tart into the shape of a dangerous weapon. Oh, sure he said he was innocent, but don’t they all?

I drove down the I-20 with my chicken growing cold and tried not to draw any attention to myself while I considered my options. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over. In a huge stroke of bad luck, I had also ordered a large soft-drink. What a great time to be super thirsty, I muttered to myself.

The further I drove, however, the more irritated I became. I mean, I’m an American, for goodness sakes. Why couldn’t I have the chicken tender of my choice? If law-abiding Americans give up their chicken tenders, only the criminals will have them, and you know what they say. The only thing that can stop a bad guy with a chicken tender is a good guy with a chicken tender, or something like that.

In the end, I felt like I had no recourse but to destroy the evidence, which I did, even though I was well aware that such a move could open me up to even more charges. The truth is I’m not certified to carry a concealed weapon.

Its times like these when I feel I must quote the infamous Mr. Earl Pitts, “Wake up, Amurica!”

Hugs, Shellie