chicken = crack

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chicken = crack

If food is love, then soul food is a hot, steamy, torrid love affair-bad for the heart, but you just can’t stop from going back for more.

I’m trying to keep this blog all eclectic n shit, but at the end of the day, it IS the canvas for my thoughts, and right now I’m seeing through time and feeling feline. What is it about chicken that’s so wonderful? There is nothing better than a crispy, juicy chicken thigh in my mouth. I can only describe the experience as poetry in the mouth. I used to be physically addicted to Morleys chicken (which only seems to exist in south London) when I lived in Streatham, where at one point I’d find myself outside my local chicken shop at 11am, which is the time they open. “2 thighs please”. The joy. The joy that would fill my soul like a warm blanket as soon as I stuck my teeth in that chicken. Feels so right but so wrong. My mind is telling me no and my body is telling me yes. You know what the fucked up thing is?? I like the chicken grease all up in my grill. Pure filth. I don’t take small bites either, I take the biggest bite out of that motherfucker. Believe. It’s not a pretty sight and guys either seem to love it or hate it which can be quite amusing. I guess the only way to describe it would be as some kinda carnal ritual where the deeply buried cavewoman DNA in me, which we all posess, comes out. You know how lions rip up zebras with their teeth on animal documentaries? That’s how I feel. Carnal.

I’m gonna read this blog tomorrow and be like what the hell was I thinking sharing this?

Oh well. It is what it is. I WANT CHICKEN AND I WANT IT NOW. I think I know how crack heads feel.

God Dammit.

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