Chickens

Connect chickens to writing through their feathers which were once used to make quills.

Another shazam fact to amaze your friends: Some dinosaurs were smaller than chickens.

Chickens drift around with no souls. She says I will not eat chicken, they have souls. Tell that to Tyson.

my aunt said when the world is coming to it's end, she will have tended chickens. And she'll go through the streets screaming »I've got the Chickens!« (of course, she'd have eggs and stuff like that too.)

We decided one night that we do indeed believe in the Pimp Chicken... there he is, up in the sky, stretched out across the universe like fog over the Mississippi, and here we are, milling around like ants at his feet, and we wish upon the stars that are the rhinestones on his jacket, and fruitlessly try to control the destiny he has already predetermined for us in his all-jazz infinite hip-jive.

My friend lives in the basement apartment of two chicken raising lesbians. One of the chickens slowly developed the features of a Rooster. After research and an e-mail to one of the leading Poulty scientists of America, they learned their chicken's gender transgression had been caused by an ovarian cyst.

The chicken in question was consequently dubbed »Chooster,« as an allusion to the animal's non-gender-identifying status.

After you've set your chickens free, you should join up with the garden gnome liberation front.

The Pimp Chicken collective was at hand, and we awed at His Highnesses Rinestone Glory. Beside him were other Traits Incarnate: The Monkey of Judgement, swingin' from a worm hole by his tail, his arms folded, looking down on us earthlings, judging who was a cat and who was not... The Sly Dog of Stealth, mangey from late-night bars and one-night stands, playing Cupid for all the hipsters in the world. And many, many more. All in league with the Pimp Chicken, all determining that thing, that thing that drives our generation, and the youths of the past, and the youths to be....