Why do news programs find it necessary to present us with a “Deadly Killer” each week? Most recently, the target has been those new Razor scooters. I’ve got a news flash: kids will be kids, so quit spewing panic-inducing sound bytes. Part of being a kid is experiencing life: scabs, broken bones, peeing in the public pool. Just report the news: weather, sports, who killed who, and that’s it. We don’t need some bobbing head telling us what’s going to do us in. We know smoking will kill us. We know eating some foods will rot our innards, shrivel our testicles, and make our asses explode.

I finished another long shift at work tonight, counted the deposit money, and biked home; the death of summer crunching under my bicycle tires. Upon my arrival, I flopped down onto my beige, sagging mare of a couch and began flipping through the channels; a joyless endeavor if ever there was one. I wonder if Hallmark makes a card for this?
She: "Bachelor #1, if we were on a date and a carjacker tried to hold us up, would you take a bullet for me?"
He: "Bitch, I don’t even know you."
Click.

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make it home for Thanksgiving this year. I didn’t have the money for the flight. I had just flown back home in September for my birthday and realized exactly how much my family means to me. As I get older, I’ve outgrown the childlike theory that the people I know and love will be around forever, and that everything in my life will always be the same. What I’ve realized since I moved so far away from my home is that life is short, and I’m truly missing out on precious minutes of the lives of the people I love.

Suddenly, I had an interesting thought. Wouldn't it be cool if jive became the official national language? I could run for president and make that the basis of my platform. I would start the Jive Turkey Party! It would be neither conservative nor liberal; it would be FUNKY! No, it would be the Super Soul-Fighter Party! I would make Jesse Jackson my VP. He would train me to say a bunch of rhyming, nonsensical jive so no one could win a debate against me-- I would be busy confusing the hell out of them!

INSANE WAYNE CHINSANG: I am thankful for Cuba Gooding, Jr., because without him I would have nothing to hate.
VINNIE BAGGADONUTS: I am thankful for Stella, beer, and lesbians. Thank you.
FPHATTY LAMAR: I am thankful for Dr. Scholl’s.
CAP'N BOOTY: I’m thankful that my nostrils are under my nose instead of on top, because otherwise I would drown if it rained.
SPACEY HEADCASE: I am thankful for #340 sub-stereo connection rings with v.115 overload switch option. And, of course, porn.

THESE ARE THE IMAGES OF A MAN CONSUMED BY FREE WILL. A MAN WITH A GIFT AND A CRAFT AND A PASSION TO CHALLENGE THE MEDIOCRITY OF WHAT HAS ALREADY BEEN ESTABLISHED. A MAN WHOSE OPINIONS EMBODY EVERYTHING AUTHORITY DOES NOT WANT YOU TO BELIEVE IN. HIS NAME IS GOTTFRIED HELNWEIN, AND HE RECENTLY DISCUSSED HIS 30+ YEAR CAREER WITH TASTES LIKE CHICKEN\'S INSANE WAYNE CHINSANG.

Originally, this space was reserved for an article I wrote about the flier you see to your left. Unfortunately, it was not funny. That’s not just my opinion. That’s the group consensus of our tastes like chicken creative approval board. Every month we present our article/story ideas to a professionally-trained committee of men and women whose job it is to separate the shit from the shinola. And, in the past year and a half, I’ve come to learn one very important thing: I very rarely make shinola, if you know what I’m saying.

BEFORE EVERY ARTIST GETS THEIR TURN IN THE SPOTLIGHT, THEY STRUGGLE THROUGH THEIR DAY WITH THE REST OF US. THEY WORK ODD JOBS TO MAKE ENDS MEET, WAIT PATIENTLY ON THE OCCASIONAL FREELANCE JOB, AND RELY ON WORD OF MOUTH TO GET SAID FREELANCE. THEY'RE ORDINARY PEOPLE WITH EXTRAORDINARY TALENTS. MANDY COOK IS ONE OF THEM. SHE'S AN EXCEPTIONAL PAINTER WITH A GENUINELY SINCERE INVESTMENT IN HER SUBJECT. TASTES LIKE CHICKEN'S UNMEDICATED TALENT, MISS TINA WELLS, SAT DOWN AND CHATTED WITH MISS COOK ABOUT HER LIFE, WORK, AND HOW THE TWO MEET.

POEM ONE:
Vote for Al Gore,
His wife is a whore.
Nothin’ like losin’,
His team’s a boozin’,
I buy meat at the store.
POEM TWO:
Turkey calls of the wild,
Gizzard chopping is loud.
Monkey see,
Monkey poo,
I like to fart in a crowd.
POEM THREE:
This one’s to my homies,
Mom makes Rice-A-Ronies.
Burp in my hole,
Cheerleaders roll,
I love ponies.
POEM FOUR:
Trix are for kids,
Fat dumb pigs.
Turkeys eat spinach,
Wicket yells "Figgach",
Bald ladies wear wigs.

I was watching the news last night and was sickened by what I heard. It was reported that women’s suffrage is at a record-breaking high this year. More women are coming out in support of the issues. People, this is not a good thing! Women need to get out while they still can.
wayne: darby, what are you saying? That women should leave the country?
darby: Well, I wouldn’t go that far, wayne! I mean, if they felt they really had to, I’m sure they could just drive to Canada.
w: That’s a powerful statement. I can’t believe you’re serious.