I Feel Like Chicken Tonight (featuring guest blogger, Buddy)

Well, I haven’t cooked anything blog-worthy the past few days, unless you count opening a can of tuna and tossing a bag of steamed veggies in the microwave (It takes skill. Shut up.), and tonight… Well… Tonight, I came home from work to this:
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This is NOT a happy Buddy face. See, he’s pissed. He’s all “Who the hell’s this Mr. Ahi Tuna Man, Mom?!?! HUH??? Do you give HIM baths and clean under his balls?!? DO YOU?! WHY DON’T YOU EVER COOK FOR ME ANY MORE, YOU CHEATING SLUT?!?”. He may be cute, but he gets a little combative when he’s angry. Seriously. When he’s out of hand like this, there’s only one thing left to do:

The recipe/non-recipe for I Feel LIke Chicken Jerky Tonight, as written by Buddy. Ok, I took dictation. He’s limited by his lack of thumbs. And he’s too short to reach the keyboard.

(Pretend Buddy is talking. He sounds a little like James Earl Jones combined with Kermit.)

1. I look adorable and beg for chicken jerky, like this:

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2. PUT YOUR OVERSIZED MITT IN THAT BAG, LADY

1977120_10154806857625551_3877370805238828601_n3. Holy shit. Here it comes. I can’t wait! OMG It’s getting closer to my face! *drool*drool*drool*drool*

1016207_10154806857570551_2392837814245437254_n4. RAWR! Next time make it snappy, woman, or I’ll take off the hand.

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I can’t show you the rest, guys. It’s horrific. The brutality. The carnage.

R.I.P, little chicken jerky.

R.I.P

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