So, the other day, this new guy shows up in town, right? Nobody knew where he came from. He wasn’t like the weird hippies or the out-of-towners who usually blow through South Park. No—this guy was different. He looked like a regular dude, but with this freaky rubber chicken mask stuck on his head, like he thought he was born that way or something. Said his name was Chainsaw Chicken. Yeah, that’s his actual name.
At first, everybody thought he was just another South Park crazy. But he didn’t bring a chainsaw, and he didn’t cluck or flap or anything—he just walked around like nothing was weird about having a chicken face. He bought coffee at Tweek’s parents’ shop, nodded at people like he’d lived there forever, and then showed up at the bus stop with us kids the next morning.
Stan kept staring at him.
Kyle was all, “Dude, what the hell is wrong with that guy’s head?”
Cartman, of course, thought it was awesome. “You guys, this dude is gonna be my new best friend. Anybody who looks that stupid has to be hilarious.”
But Chainsaw Chicken didn’t even notice. He just stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, talking about the weather like he belonged. And that’s when it hit us: South Park has had aliens, Satan, and even a talking towel. So a guy with a rubber chicken face? Yeah… that actually kinda made sense.
And you know what’s the strangest part? By lunchtime, nobody even cared anymore. He bought a round for all of us and just sat back and watched us. Like he was studying us to write some story.
Chainsaw Note: Yeah, yeah, relax. South Park belongs to Trey Parker, Matt Stone, and Comedy Central. They made the kids, the town, and the fart jokes. I just wandered in wearing a rubber chicken mask. No chainsaws involved. This is parody. It’s satire. It’s me doing my thing, not them doing theirs. If you thought otherwise, you might need to lay off the Cheesy Poofs. @southpark #southpark
See more at http://ChainsawChicken.com
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 ...
