Chicken Stories

Mesa is a well-known Republican mecca, so imagine my surprise when I visited our local KFC and discovered that they are now selling the "Hillary Bucket." Yeah, it's true. When you order the Hillary bucket you get two juicy thighs, two small breasts and a left wing.

...C'mon. Admit it. That's funny. Thank you to William Carey who told a joke I could actually remember. Usually I am joke-telling dyslexic. Honestly. I can tell it all the way to the end and then mess up the punchline or forget it altogether. I think it is a condition that is diagnosable but untreatable.

That joke is in tribute to my father, a master salesman who believed everyone should have at least one good joke in their repertoire. There you go, Dad. I just shot my wad with the Hillary bucket. Don't expect another good one for 10 years.

Speaking of chicken and my father (how often do you think that combination comes up?) it reminds me of a story. One time my dad and two of my brothers were traveling for business. As usual, they had left late and were driving through the night. And also as usual they stopped into one of those 24 hour truck stops that my dad had a thing for. Legend has it that the waitress, who, heaven love her, was working the midnight shift and in a rather foul mood, started to talk about the specials. "I've got some chicken legs and chicken wings..." Dad couldn't resist and quickly quipped, "Well, that's gotta be painful." She was not amused and gave him one of those looks that could kill, but he always laughed hardest at his own jokes anyway. My brothers just shook their heads.

If you too would like to honor the memory of my dad or maybe help me with my joke-telling dyslexia, let 'er rip and tell me a good one. I could use a giggle.