Cocks in my ear.

When you live in a crowded suburban area, I do not know what the fuck possesses someone to get a FUCKING ROOSTER. Really, A ROOSTER?

Although, people who know me will find this is all a bit hypocritical. For when I was growing up with my father, my basement was the underground railroad for poultry. There were seeds and feathers around every corner, the constant bawking that put me to sleep. I still do not know why we had so many mean ass chickens in the basement, nor will I ever forget that I never got to sleep in on the weekend.

That's just the kind of man that my father is, a man with roosters. A man who will brag and tell you all about his chickens, and be very excited to show them to you. Not just show them you, tell you their names, and explain how he built the cage they now reside in.

I went to visit my father in Florida last year and one of the first things he wanted to show me was.....Can you guess? The chicken coup, of course the god damned chickens. The chicks that were named, all with lovely spanish names, and the coup that he made for them. Of course he made it for them, my dad loves the chickens.

Too bad he didn't love lobster, crab, or something, because I could really go for some damn seafood.

Sorry for the flashback, cocks always bring me back to my father. What brought on this entire entry is that this morning while I was sitting in my dining room, I was serenaded by a fucking rooster at 6 am. Why do I have to live next door to a rooster? WHY? WHY DO THE COCKS SURROUND ME?


Now I want some damn fried chicken.