“When I was driving by, I saw this giant Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket in my yard, and I thought for sure that I was hallucinating, so I called my teenagers who were at home and had them go outside,” said Aleena Headrick.
“It’s unusual, but it makes really good landmarks when people come to our house,” said Headrick. “You can just say, ‘Come down to the giant KFC bucket and turn right.'”
“Maybe we’ll get giant mashed potatoes next to it,” said Headrick.
PR stunt or….can I move in? I love this fucking story. Growing up, fried chicken had cult status in my house. Being country bumpkin hilbillys, we had this 8 mile mecca to the nearest fast food chain so Mama Squeezy had the advantage of force feeding us vegetables for years, even making us vegetary for a while. (Vividly remember eating a Vegetable Deluxe at Burnley McDonalds and thinking – is this the peak of life? Might as well jump in the sea). Shit changed when I got old enough to take the train on my own and sink two Big Tastys after a skate. My brother got a car and used to drive those sacred 8 miles just to grab us a family bucket. Dad got addicted to KFC. End of days.
I went back home two years ago to the news that a chicken shop had been opened (McAbduls…no lie). Mass local hysteria. Cue following a trail of chicken bones home at 5am on a Saturday morning. My bro ordered so regularly they sent him a personalised Christmas card.
Aliens dumped a giant KFC bucket in my yard…all gravy baby, but hold the baked beans. Some people probably wear chicken boxes as shoes these days.
The relevance of all this? Nothing really. So don’t be calling me telling me about blocked arteries. You could get run over by an Ocado truck tomorrow. Viva la fucking deep fat fryer.
Take a moment to consider the beauty.
I make her say…
Lets also talk about convenience.
God Bless.
