Forty days ago 600 million baby chickens hatched from their fragile little shells.
A week ago they were slaughtered and harvested for their tender little wings so 1.25 billion chicken wings could be served to Super Bowl fans today.
They never even had a chance to choke on their first pebble, gobble their first worm or scurry away from the evil neighborhood cat. Roosters never got to crow at their first sunrise, and lady chickens never got to have their own baby chickens.
All so a bunch of lazy, overweight football fans could ogle brain-dead athletes in tight silk stockings groping one another like pro wrestling players, making their sweaty love fest look realistic enough to earn their multi-million dollar salaries.
Enjoy your chicken wings, y’all.
