Sandwich Monday: Rip'n Chick'n
The fried chicken chain Popeye's, named because Popeye famously ate cans of fried chicken to make himself big and strong, is offering "Rip'n Chick'n." In so doing, they've accomplished what the great poets thought impossible: rhyme "chicken" and "ripping," and serve people a hand-shaped piece of chicken.
Eva: So you're telling me chickens could have been collecting their own eggs all this time.
Ian: It's called Rip'n Chick'n. It's nice. I can use all the time I would have spent saying "g's" regrett'n my life.
Miles: It's nice to be able to do this to chicken fingers that don't owe me money.
Eva: The phrase "don't bite the hand that feeds you" carries no weight anymore, except in your tummy region.
Mike: With such long, elegant fingers, this chicken could've been a concert pianist. Good ol' Henn Gould.
Miles: Is it wrong that I want a pair of deep-fried chicken hands to feed me chicken wings? I just can't exert the energy anymore.
Peter: Nobody has mentioned this is, in fact, delicious. If this is what chicken hands taste like, I'm really excited to try chicken trunks, chicken horns and chicken fins.
Eva: Be careful eating this, guys. I just accidentally ate one of my own fingers.
Ian: Says here you can get 20 percent off with something called the Rahm Emanuel Edition.
Robert: I feel sorry for the hand model that has been waiting around for a job and it was Popeye's that called.
Mike: After one bite, I understand why they say some dictators rule with a "chicken fist."
Dr. Richard Kimble: This chicken killed my wife!
Peter: I had to wash my hands after eating it. Wouldn't it have been more efficient just to wash its hand first?
Robert: You have to admire the defiance of a meal that flips you off as it's going down.
Peter: I'm still hungry. Can anybody lend a hand?
[The verdict: disconcertingly delicious! Yes, it's weird to eat chicken shaped like a human hand. But there's no angst that can't be overcome by the power of fried chicken.]
Sandwich Monday is a satirical feature from the humorists at Wait Wait ... Don't Tell Me.
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