That feeling of exuberance that comes with having your theory confirmed by new evidence is outmatched only by the joy of gloating about it. It is this fix that drives our brightest young minds into the hard sciences.
Last year I wrote:
A large number of chicken outfits are costumes, or uniforms, in which the chicken portrays exaggerated masculine gender roles. We have chickens dressed as cowboys, chicken college graduates, chickens stripping off their costumes Superman-style to reveal their secret restaurant identities. These chickens are performing a travesty, playing a part in the culinary world akin to what the Village People once played for music.
Chicken Cabaret comes so close to the Platonic ideal of Chicken Drag as to be indistinguishable from it. Ann’s Food Blog warns that the chicken there tastes like dirt: “I am not kidding.” But how can that matter? This is the closest thing to perfection I can ever hope to see in a chicken sign.
34th and 3rd, Manhattan.
Previously: Anthropomorphic Pig v. Anthropomorphic Chicken