That line has been killin' me since I heard it from a sheriff who was lamenting the consequences of an animal activist prank which resulted in the release of maybe sixty or seventy thousand minks from a ranch. Rather than suffering horribly from unfamiliar freedom, some of them started killing chickens and that was the root of the sheriff's heartache.
Sheriff: Don't they think about God's chickens.
Oh, the humanity ... or at least the chickens.
There's the great tragedy of the minks released to the wild where they will surely die but let's review the situation for the minks: they were fucked anyway.
As soon as they get big enough, the mink rancher whacks them for their pelts. He probably also sells the meat as a supplemental cattle feed and cows of the future may come down with Mad Mink Disease. Then American cattle will no longer be legal for export anywhere since they won't risk Mad Mink Disease in other countries. Consequently, the American economy will collapse.
The animal activists try to save us from that, see.
Returning to the topic of God's chickens, there's no clear evidence anyone cares about chickens. In vast multitudes due to the enormous demand, chickens are raised in horrendous conditions. Based on the empirical data, it doesn't look like God really likes his chickens too much.
Note: Tyson whacks about 100K chickens per day.
Ed: maybe God would like them if he tried them fried?
Maybe that's the problem since God knows everything so he must know what the Colonel's Kentucky Fried Chicken tastes like ... finger lickin' good ... even when the fingers are divine.
Ed: so chickens are basically fucked?
It looks that way, mate.
Ed: what about the minks?
Leave the little fuckers alone. They were just rats until New Yorkers took a fancy to their fur. If you need fur then be a man about it and whack a saber-tooth tiger ... bare-handed ... in the rain.
Ed: they're extinct
I guess you will be shopping at L.L. Bean then, mate.
Sheriff: Don't they think about God's chickens.
Oh, the humanity ... or at least the chickens.
There's the great tragedy of the minks released to the wild where they will surely die but let's review the situation for the minks: they were fucked anyway.
As soon as they get big enough, the mink rancher whacks them for their pelts. He probably also sells the meat as a supplemental cattle feed and cows of the future may come down with Mad Mink Disease. Then American cattle will no longer be legal for export anywhere since they won't risk Mad Mink Disease in other countries. Consequently, the American economy will collapse.
The animal activists try to save us from that, see.
Returning to the topic of God's chickens, there's no clear evidence anyone cares about chickens. In vast multitudes due to the enormous demand, chickens are raised in horrendous conditions. Based on the empirical data, it doesn't look like God really likes his chickens too much.
Note: Tyson whacks about 100K chickens per day.
Ed: maybe God would like them if he tried them fried?
Maybe that's the problem since God knows everything so he must know what the Colonel's Kentucky Fried Chicken tastes like ... finger lickin' good ... even when the fingers are divine.
Ed: so chickens are basically fucked?
It looks that way, mate.
Ed: what about the minks?
Leave the little fuckers alone. They were just rats until New Yorkers took a fancy to their fur. If you need fur then be a man about it and whack a saber-tooth tiger ... bare-handed ... in the rain.
Ed: they're extinct
I guess you will be shopping at L.L. Bean then, mate.
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