“Good morning… Mr…uhhh… Chicken. What brings you in today?” questioned the ‘on call’ doctor .
“Well Doc,” Chainsaw began to speak as he rested on the paper covered exam table. “It’s like this. For the last several days I have been feeling like my gizzard in out of whack. It’s not working as it should.”
“Gizzard!” exclaimed the doctor. “Your gizzard has been troubling you?”
“Oh yes, Doc!” proclaimed Chainsaw. Think you might have some notion of what might be going on with me?”
The doctor starred at Chainsaw for an extra moment , took a deep breath as if he was tired and needed a boost of energy, then began. “As I see it you have a few other issues going on besides your gizzard.”
He continued. “How long have you been feeling… uhhhh… thinking…. uhhhh… that you are a chicken?
Puzzled, Chainsaw calmly addressed the doctors curious question. “As long as I can remember, Doc. You’ve never treated me. Do you know Dr. DeBakie Chicken? He’s my usual doctor. I’ve been seeing him for years.”
“Oh I’ve seen him in the staff meetings. But I am concerned about you” the doctor continued sincerely.
Chainsaw interjected “I think my gizzard has got the Covid. Can you give me something to cure it?”
The doctor answered abruptly. “You don’t have a gizzard“…
“What? Sure I do” stated Chainsaw.
The doctor continued” Furthermore, I think I will give you a referral to see another doctor friend of mine at the sanitarium, I mean the building across the street.”
“Oh doc, can you just give me some Hydroxy-what cha call it?” asked Chainsaw.
“No” answered the doctor.
“Ivermectin?” Chainsaw muttered?
“No” the doctor stated flatly.
“Remdesivir… Monoclonal Antibody’s?” Chainsaw bounced back words like it was a game of ping-pong.
The doctor turned, picked up a phone, pressed a call button. When someone answered be calmly said “I need you and two other people, yeah the big guys, to come to exam room 3 and help my patient across the street to the ‘clinic’ that might better help him”.
There I was at my doctor’s office. I was seeing him about the goo that was growing between some of my toes. He sent it off for a culture. What happened after that is disgustedly amazing.
Case in point: the goo patch between my toes. I thought it was athlete’s foot. The doctor thought it was athlete’s foot. Turns out, it was history in the making: a sample of goo that became the immortal CSC line — Chain Saw Chicken cells.
Immortal means they don’t die. Ever. They just keep dividing, multiplying, taking up space like in-laws who forgot how to leave. You could drop them in a Petri dish in 1973, and in 2025, they’d still be at the party.
Now, you might have heard of another line like this: HeLa cells, taken from Henrietta Lacks without her consent in 1951. They became the backbone of modern medicine — used to develop the polio vaccine, cancer therapies, gene mapping, you name it. That poor woman’s tumor cells outlived her by decades and made billions for other people.
Well, congratulations, ...
The boldest move I’ve made in the name of ALDI was volunteering Chainsaw Chicken — my satirical alter ego — as a free box boy for seniors at checkout. Anyone who shops at ALDI knows the rhythm: the cashier scans with lightning speed while customers scramble to bag their own groceries. Most people see that as pressure. I saw it as a chance to give back.
One afternoon, I stationed myself at the end of a checkout lane with an empty Aldi box and a heroic sense of purpose. The cashier fired items across the counter faster than I could keep up, while Chainsaw Chicken — a man in a yellow latex chicken mask — packed with painstaking care. He was slow, clumsy, but determined. The older customer smiled at the effort, grateful for the help. The cashier, however, looked like she was witnessing a one-man traffic jam.
That scene captures my Aldi loyalty. It isn’t just about bargains or efficiency — it’s about showing up, adding heart, and making the experience unforgettable. I’ve...
I was just leisurely walking around my neighborhood.
“What a wonderful day,” I said out loud, enjoying the warm spring sunshine as it warmed my beak.
As I passed the house of the neighbor I don’t get along with—the one who lets his many cats roam freely—I glanced at the kids’ sandbox.
To my surprise, the usual “kitty biscuits” (the kind cats leave behind) seemed to be arranged in a message. The closer I got, the clearer it became. What a strangely artistic formation of… ah… cat turds. Then it hit me—I could read what it said! At first, I thought it was just a political statement expressing someone’s opinion… until I saw my logo decal!
I took a picture, intending to post it on social media. But given the recent “stink” over a similar (and equally innocent) incident, I decided to share it only with my loyal followers.
Before leaving, I mixed up the bio-deposits, leaving them in the sand so the kids could play undisturbed.
I wonder… did my neighbor ...
