"Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin!"
I hate to bother such a handsome story, but I'm sort of an expert on fried critters and the opportunity to use such knowledge doesn't present itself all too often. It takes a special moment-just like this story… Four years of eating Ten cent wings at neighborhood Beef O' Bardy's after crew practice is the All of my experience. But it pertains to Jack's description of the rodent and I hope to agitate thought.
Fried rat does not equal hairy rat? But in Jack's case it does-and it's a spicy BBQ story; why is that?
We all know that hair, at elevated temperatures in excess of 125 degrees Fahrenheit melts away like butter on a biscuit. Take for example the plumage on the lone Buffalo wing that made it through the gauntlet, down deep below in Colonel Sanders warm basement. Do you know what that wing looks like when it came out the other side? Well for sure you would, if you the last crew member to the table at Beef O' Brady's'. You'd soon be the one in the group who'd know both what it looks like and tastes like…So-gross.
As for the strength of Jack's tale and stomach, I'll say the pair is weak and empty with a craving for Barbecue Sauce.
Jeremie Calo
The Big Bad Wolf
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