When I was a child, we had chickens. Once, when I was five or six, we had a rooster who would chase me out of the yard when I went outside to play. Seeing this, my father held me over the chicken pen as I kicked at the rooster with my little cowboy boots, but the rooster didn’t learn.

So he equipped me as a knight, and sent me with a broomhandle sword, a winter coat, and safety glasses to do battle. I fought him from the lowest dip to the highest hill, the Rooster of Cruelty, until I at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the hillside.

Never again did he trouble me, and never again shall I let poultry tyrannize me! Ever again shall I ride to war against the avian, fair or fowl; thus is my vow.

My favorite thing is the boomer anger towards 6-7

“Back in my day, our funni numbers mean something, and we wore onions on our belts, as was the fashion of the time”