Shwo me where this is…
Photo courtesy of Brian Rubrecht.
Found in Tokyo, Japan.
(92 votes, average: 3.97 out of 5)
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We’re the chickens grilled before flying.
Bock, bock bockle your cock, cock, cockle
Q. Why did the chicken fly the house?
A. It was skrewed if it didn’t.
This warms the cockles of my doodle.
Skwereed is that a cockle doodle doo.
“As God as my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.” – Mr. Carlson
A rooster says: Cock-a-doodle-doo.
A prostitute says: Any-doodle’l-do.
Q. Why did the chicken cross the road.
A. To join the proletariat, to revolt against the Capatilist Running Dogs who ran the restaurant, and oppressed the chickens.
Viva la revolución. POWER TO THE POUILTRY POWER TO THE POULTRY
Splat.
Uh, waiter, I didn’t ask for this cockle doodle doo doo from the flying chicken.
@FB 0604. We have a plague of Brush turkeys in Brissie. They constantly dig up the gardens to make their mounds. They are maddening to the avid gardeners. I have seen meek and mild little ladies, at 0500 on a summers morning, chasing Brush Turkeys round their yard with a broom. Screaming FAAARRRRK ORRFFF!!
As a result of getting their prized gardens destroyed overnight.
Unfortunately, the Brush Turkey (Alectura Lathami) is protected. I actually have a good recipe for them. Delicious.
Skwere meals a specialty.
“It’s all processed chicken ass.”