Phallic Foul

When I'm not working at Starbucks, my lovely employers get great pleasure in shipping me off across the food court to work at Food Avenue, aka Target's hot little hell hole. I'll be perfectly honest, I don't hate it as much as I say I do, but it can get boring as all get out between the swarms of tiny children asking for ICEEs and pulling inaccurate piles of change out of their pockets.

I amuse myself by being anal. Which, truth said, is kind of pathetic, but my manager appreciates it. I cleaned the cookie oven, which was sparkling to begin with. I dusted the main oven, even though it was upwards of 400 degrees and every time I sprayed sanitizer on it, a loud hissing noise would sound as it sizzled right back off again. I even shoved innumerable batches of frozen chicken strips through my pristine oven, even though they expire every hour and no one really orders them to begin with.

I was plopping down another tray full of chicken strips when a particularly interesting one caught my eye. It was crumbly and golden brown and generally misshapen just like the rest of them, but it's misshapenness had taken on an excellent quality of being a prime diagram of the erect penis (and testicles, to be exact, or else I could go crazy and say all the long chicken strips were penises and that Target was trying to tell me something).

I was lucky enough to have a family of four walk up at the exact moment I discovered my happy little chicken friend, and was forced to apologize for my giggling. I'm sure they thought I was either way too pleased to be inhaling popcorn grease fumes or that I was simply insane. Either way, I cooked the sucker with the rest, and then, because I'm a good employee who didn't want a little three year-old girl to be forced to consume it, I shoved it in a popcorn bag and brought it home with me.

Dinner, anyone?
(I think the curve makes it quite realistic, myself. This isn't one of those fake porn chicken tender penises you see all the time, this guy is the real macaw.)