First off, anyone who knows me knows how madly adoringly in love I am with my grandparents. I think they're the best, wisest, most wonderful people on the planet. So if my Papaw said something was true, there would be no questions of its validity. I suspect my dream stems partly from that, partly because I ate an alarming amount of pizza before I fell asleep, and partly because of what Malarie did to me yesterday.
Ooh, I just thought of another appropriate post title: What Malarie Did To Me. Because my life will never be the same. I was on my twitter pulpit, preaching about being balanced with childrens nutrition and not demonizing a particular food, but instead giving certain foods as special treats in moderation. Malarie shut me down with a link to an article about chicken nuggets, and I can't even bring myself to steal the photo from the article to post here because it is just too gross. Maybe later I'll find some photos of ring aversion to pirate, because I promise you'll feel much more comfortable with visions of mutilated phalanges dancing in your head at night than you will with these chicken paste photos. So, if you do not mind omitting chicken nuggets from your diet for the rest of your life and you have a strong stomach or a morbid curiosity, by all means CLICK HERE. I'll wait.
See? The stuff nightmares are made of.
Ok, so last night I dreamed that I was at my grandparents' house, having a lovely time when my Papaw comes home from the grocery store with a giant crate full of raw chicken meat. He says he knows a great way to save money on food by planting your own garden. I'm like ok, but what's the chicken meat for? He pulls out a giant tub of melted butter and tells me that I have to dip these raw chicken parts into the butter and then bury them in the yard. Horrified, I'm like .... Why?? He says they will grow new chicken. I'm like but won't they rot and be infested with maggots? And he's like yes, but we will wash them in ammonia and cook them so it's fine. And I'm like, but chicken can't grow chicken! And then I woke up. The end.
PS. Sorry Grandparents that you have been introduced to my readers via a post about mechanically separated chicken parts. I didn't plan it this way.