Eating drumsticks makes me feel like I’m in an epic movie.
I imagine myself roaming fields littered with orcs, monsters, dragons, and other fantastical beasts while ripping the flesh off the bone with my teeth.
Which is why this is not the greatest food for me to eat in front of other people.
I just get too excited.
Every bite bursts forth an orchestral soundtrack, images of battles, mead, and big-breasted barmaids. Usually in this scenario I picture myself in worn armor, unsheathed sword in one hand, drumstick in the other. Blood and dirt streaked across my cheek, head of a beast underneath my mighty foot.
Needless to say, this makes trips to KFC a bit awkward.
Thank God for delivery.
Now it’s just the one witness who stands by in silence while I hand over payment in a velvet-pouch. Shaking the hand of the good man who ventured forth to bring me the feast, I nod my head in somber gratitude for all those who fell during whichever flick I’ve had playing in the background. Smiling greedily, I then take the bucket of bird into my private lair for consumption.
Tonight, for all who fought against Mordor, Lord Voldemort, Troy, and the Sheriff of Nottingham (both animated and Alan Rickman)-I raise this leg to you.
Good eve, bloggers. Good eve.