Monday, July 27, 2009

The Colonel

WARNING: Double entendre ahead. the canary fighting took me back to my roots in the foot-hills of Appalachia. We weren't fancy enough to have pet birds...unless of course your bird was for eatin' of fightin'! That's right...cock fighting was part of my growing up. I never did it, don't condone it, but I knew some ole boys that did their gamblin' that way. It meant they got to get together with a bunch of other guys and talk about whose was the best - was it size that mattered? Or did skill win the day? And at the end of the night (cock fighting is never done during daylight hours), you get to go home and tell your wife that she's married to the best in town.

A little racy? Yep...and you thought living in the South was all about gentility and manners.

What a lot of so-called civilized folk don't understand is that southern animosity for chickens is well-founded in our survival instincts. It goes back to the War of Northern Aggression. See this mini-documentary.
(NOTE: If you're reading on facebook or another viewer, click through to the original link.)

Having them kill off each other was a defense mechanism. That...and making them delicious.

Of course, you can have too much of a good thing.

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