Chicken Tracts

Slurp the syrup.

 

Waffle fries and sodomy. Both are valid ways to spend an evening. They probably go quite well together too. I wouldn’t really know. I don’t believe that I am currently at a point of my life in which I can really appreciate fast food or homosexual congress; accordingly, I indulge in neither. However, I am cognisant of the way in which appeals to auxiliary passions can influence political apathy. Apathy is one thing in which I do occasionally indulge. If I had to vote, my support would probably be won by some trifling aesthetic consideration. Obama's the David Lee Roth of politics. He'd get my vote for that reason, but I can’t generally bring myself to have any significant opinions on the minuscule divergences people display over the real issues. That’s why I don’t vote. It would be bad for the system. But I know how the little things can get people to choose sides when they just don’t care about the actual situations. I just don’t want people to stand against gay rights because they like chicken. You can have both! Gay friends and waffle fries! No one really cares. I don’t think that you’re ever going to find a company that only involves thoroughly agreeable people. I don’t think that you’re ever going to find five reasonably populated square miles that only involve thoroughly agreeable people. You can grow your own food if you wish, but I don’t know where you’re going to get waffle plants. Waffle plants and fry vines. Those are especially scarce. I suppose that potatoes would suffice in a tight spot, though.

But that might not even work. You probably disagree with some of your own philosophies. I know that I do. If I based my dietary choices around the moral purity of the chef, I’d never eat anything I made. It hasn’t really been a problem yet, though. I don’t cook. I know that Toucan Sam isn’t exactly a model for archaeological protocol, but he doesn’t have time for legality or professional ethics when he’s diving to the bottom of Mayan temples for the treasure he seeks. And I can’t blame him! That treasure is one of the best breakfast cereals of all time, and I shall doubtlessly enjoy it till my dying day.  

My grandmother is Jewish, but she still likes Wagner. Well. She likes “Das Rheingold”. I don’t think that she’d care to go to lunch with the man, but I’m sure that she might reconsider if he offered to pay for the waffle fries.

Copyright © 2011, Jaymes Buckman and David Aaron Cohen. All rights reserved. In a good way.