Hookers and Drugs

The other night I was rummaging through Chicken's backpack in a futile attempt to find tiny decorative ice packs for his school lunch. I'm not sure how any of us survived the meat-laden mayonnaise-dripping bacterial frenzy that constituted the school lunch of our childhood. According to modern scientific opinion and that whole refrigeration crap we're forced to CHILL food instead of sitting it out on the playground in baking heat for 5 hours until our children eat it. What the fuck is that about? I think kids are just pussies that can't take virulent strains of bacteria coursing through their wimpy little bodies.

Back to the great ice pack hunt of 2006: Have you ever attempted to find those little fuckers in the dead of the night? Of course, I did have Chicken's light on and I was holding his backpack upside down... however those damn ice packs are like little blue gnomes. The kind that you don't see all week long, however come Saturday morning they are having a fucking orgy under your bed and the wee little one is screeching "Fuck me in the ass!" as loud as he can. All the muttering about gnomes must have woken poor Chicken up because he gently inquired: "What are you doing Mommy?" "I'm searching for drugs and prostitutes in your backpack," was my reply. "Yippee! Drugs and prostitutes!" he shouts with glee and promptly falls back to sleep. That's my boy!

For those of you that are a bit concerned with Chicken's nickname being Chicken, please remember that I don't call him Chicken in front of his peers. Also, when I say Chicken I'm referring to this type of chicken. A Kung fu ass kicking chicken of the fiercest chicken nature. Not simply Chicken but the great and mighty:

El Chicken

Which many seem odd to any Spanish-speaking readers as the title should read El Pollo, but that's another tangent where I spew green globs of fury that Mexican restaurants create menus where I can order:

Pork Carnitas and Carne Asada Steak

Fucktards.