Back when I was in school I had my first pet chicken. At the time I also had a favorite housemate from Alabama who had the bad habit of calling girls chickens. I'm not the most discerning person in the world, and when someone I admire says or does something I like I tend to adopt the mannerism too quickly. Hence, I started calling all girls chickens. Once, I even went so far as to walk into a room of women at work and exclaim, "Look at all these chickens!" As redress for adopting that phrase I thought it was only fair that I should name my first pet chicken Girl. Including Girl, I've had seven chickens as pets, two of them were roosters and crowed too much to be kept very long in my hood. One thing you can do with chickens is play chicken shit bingo. I play mine more like a football pool where each guest can by any of 100 squares for $1 and then we put the chickens in a littl pen with the numbered squares on the floor. In the half hour that the hens are on the board, any square that gets shit on gets a portion of the money pool. In additon to CBS, I think that eVite may be the host to much of this centuries great wit. That is why I present, here in this post, the preserved eVite to my chicken shit bingo party along with some of the better responses.

cheese and chicken shit

Saturday, January 21, 4:00pm

Cheese and chickens are perfect primers for Saturday evening fun. Come and munch on some cheesey snacks while possibly winning a few dollars playing chicken shit bingo. Bring drinks! Iced basins for beer, cork screws for red wine, trash bins for white wine, cups left over from margaritas, and cheese will be supplied. I'm counting on you to show off your creative drink of choice and your witty afternoon buzz to add to the levity. Viva libations!

• I have not crapped in two days. Those goddamned chickens have no idea who they're dealing with.
• So if Charlie eats one of the chickens and then shits, does that count?
• bock bock moo
• I'll bring my cock too! Thanks for the evite....
• Wow, I almost missed this invite. What a loser. Sounds like a lot of fun, I'll bring my cock.
• shit yeah!! just please don't feed the chickens cheese or they'll get constipated and we'll be there all night long...
• I was saving all my singles for Sugar's, but I guess this will do.
• i'll bring my champ cock, "pinky!"
• "the chickens are like loaves of bread" - Ken
• I can't get over last night's hangover by 4:00 pm but can't miss shitty chickens.
• libations and birds pitted against one another...with unseasonably warm weather and lots of booze, the cocks will be ruling us and forcing shit bingo for their viewing pleasure by 7.
• if there's nothing else to do.
• Chicken shit bingo can also be: A BIG CHINOCK SNIT!
• my cock is a lover, not a fighter! I'll bring the electrical cords and duct tape.
• We will endeavor to prove that one CAN make chicken soup from chicken shit.
• Just to be clear we're just exploiting the chickens for their ability to shit, not eating them right?
• Why discriminate among your pets? I vote for one jackpot round of Charlie shit bingo
• I AM dark meat.
• Susan, look no further...when the shit hits the dirt - you have my number. Flu shots for everyone!
• i'll be there late with vodka and carrot juice.
• Pimms & Lemonade, chicken shit bingo and cheese all on Saturday afternoon... have I gone to heaven?
• BAWK! BAWK! BAWK!
• just need to get my avian-flu shot first
• i like dark meat.
• i might have to arrive late - please don't let that chicken shit until i get there.
• never been to a real cock fight before. especially one where they play each other at bingo. my money's on the gray one! he looks mean.
  
• I bet the chicken shits
• I checked the Tawrat and the Torah and there is no problem with chickens eating cheese (the chickens should avoid the alcohol). It's Halaal and Kosher....??....?? No but I can play the role on TV.

Hey

Did I mention that I still love the Pixies? How often do you and your favorite say, "Hey"? I'm guessing a lot.


hey
been trying to meet you
hey
must be a devil between us
or whores in my head
whores at my door
whore in my bed
but hey
where
have you
been if you go i will surely die
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained

uh said the man to the lady
uh said the lady to the man she adored
and the whores like a choir
go uh all night
and mary ain't you tired of this
uh
is
the
sound
that THE MOTHER MAKES WHEN THE BABY breaks
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained
we're chained

I go back to May 1987

...when I heard Garrison Keillor read this poem by Sharon Olds during a drive from Providence to Boston. I was headed to Boston to spend a weekend of partying with my usual gang from back then. They are a story in and of themselves. However, I recall my post-this-show party commutes pretty vividly because this reading made me a big fan of Mr Keillor's, and, following this, I was always careful to schedule my drive during the broadcast with the hope of hearing more like this.

Hey Garrison, Onward!

I Go Back to May 1937 (from The Gold Cell)

I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don't do it--she's the wrong woman,
he's the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don't do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.