Chickenshit and Me

Chicken shit has played a far greater role in my life than I ever imagined.

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My cousin Sandy and I on my Uncle Burt and Aunt Grace’s  farm in 1946 or so
Immediately following this seemingly bucolic shot of us, something drastic happened.  You can just begin to see in Sandy’s expression the beginning of protest that I had a deathgrip on the very kitten she wanted to hold.
The adults retreated back into the house, and trouble escalated quickly.  Suddenly, I let the kitten go because I was hit soundly with the most abundant weapon handy.  And that, my friends , was my first battle with chicken shit.  We threw it at each other furiously, screaming at the top of our lungs, until it was in our hair, on our faces, and all over the clothes we had worn to church.
It was not to be my last encounter with chickenshit.
My first corporate job was editor of the company magazine for a frozen dinner producer.  In that capacity, I slung written public relations chickenshit on glossy paper, and trudged through acres of real chickenshit with plastic disposable  booties on my feet.
..
 Now, in 2017, I am ready to wage a chickenshit fight unlike anything I have ever known,
With the biggest bunch of political chickenshits this country has ever known,
Headed by a big orange-faced King of all chickenshits.
I may be old, but I know my chickenshit.
And I know how to use it.

6 thoughts on “Chickenshit and Me

  1. I have my waders on and my representatives on speed-dial. To quote Motormouth Maybelle (Hairspray, 2007) “You better brace yourselves for a whole lotta ugly comin’ at you from a never ending parade of stupid.”

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