All Hail The Chicken Farming King

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Remeber when I talked about me dating the chicken farming king? Remember the story of the green and yellow lawn mower testicles?

Yes. Well. I found one of the few pictures of the two of us. And I just couldn't spare myself from the agony. I have to show you so you can cover your eyes, hug your knees and keen in pure pity.

The voices in your head are probably screaming "SWEET JESUS! WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?! Or rather, WAS SHE THINKING AT ALL?!" Well. Since you asked Jesus, I'll leave it to him to answer those questions. Since I'm a little iffy on both answers.

But. IT GETS WORSE. Remember that this fine young chunk of farming manliness is getting married? Well. His father and MY father happen to see each other quite frequently. For some reason, my father STILL finds the thought of me marrying this lad quite endearing. Even though I would be locked away to a life of farming and child-bearing. As soon as he saw this picture, he snatched it from my fingers and chortled with glee, dancing about in his socks. He informed me that he recently saw the father of Chicken Lover Boy and he is salivating at the thought of having grandbabies popped out left and right.

I am petrified. Terrified that he will mail it to his child lusting partner in crime and label it something like;

"Just think, this COULD have been the mother of your grand children."

"Fire up the baby ovens! It's going to be a HOT season."

"Do you realize the breeding stock that you lost?"

Yes. My father has no qualms in comparing me to a farm animal or a baby factory.

12 Responses to “All Hail The Chicken Farming King”

  1. Anonymous Memphis Steve 

    Well, congrats to you and your chicken farmer! Are you going to name your born after John Deere or some NASCAR driver?

    I have no idea what's going on exactly, but you do appear to be happy in your photos, so I take this as a very good thing.

  2. Anonymous Memphis Steve 

    OK, somewhere in my comment was the word 'first' as in 'first born.' But it has disappeared as if by magic.

    woooooo! Spooky!

  3. Anonymous Porkchop 


    If you click on the links, you understand the backstory of this. Suffice to say I am NOT marrying a chicken farmer. I no longer have short lesbian like hair. AND I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT BEARING FIRST BORN CHILDREN IN THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE.

  4. Anonymous joy 

    I think he's a chicken farmer sort of way. Besides, he was nice (to my face) and funny (when he got our jokes) and played x-box for hours with squirmy little brothers. His crowning moment was when your hair was hot pink...and he offered to dye his you two could be skittles together, remember? He certainly beats out various other ex-boyfriends who shall remain nameless. *coughcough*KNIPS*coughcough*

  5. Anonymous Porkchop 

    Knips was not a boyfriend. Knips was a two-week amusement.

    And I think Zeke only felt intimidated by you... like every other male we know.

  6. Anonymous joy 

    Not every male, don't be so conceited. It's quit possible they AREN'T intimidated...they just don't like me. Must consider that possibility.

  7. Anonymous joy 

    I hate how incredibly conceited this all sounds. Can you delete some comments or something? Maybe, numbers 5, 6, and 7? Thanks.

  8. Anonymous pukey 

    it's just the HAT that gets me.

    tipped back as faaaaaaaaaar as it can go.

  9. Anonymous pukey 

    and dangit joy - intimidating is the way to go!

    I wish I could be intimidating, but most of the time, I just have to settle for insulting.

  10. Anonymous Porkchop 

    But your insults are cute and witty! And you can't help but love you...

  11. Anonymous jon37 

    awwww, you were so cute back then...
    what happened???


  12. Anonymous Porkchop 

    I got fat. That's what.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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