Ezpaguety Stories: Chicken

This is no cooking blog my friend. This is Ezpaguety.

Tonight an idea came to me, to purchase 4 pieces of this majestic beast. The kind which I shall call, chicken.

Chicken that is so greasy and average on its own that you could almost feel the third world on every chump.

What is commonly called in my country as "pollo de bombillo", which can be kind of translated to "light bulb chicken", which is the one you can purchase on those little junk food palaces where you don't even know where they got the aforementioned birds, and they are keeping under the heat of, what else, a splendorous light bulb.

I arrived at home, tired of another tiresome day at good ol' socialism, turned off the lights, threw my shoes away and opened the tabs of those videos of youtube I shall witness as I commit this beautiful crime of tastiness and obstructed arteries.

Oh beautiful chicken goddess. Beautiful are you ways and blessed thy ripped golden feathers, for I will devour your body now.

And so I did.

So I did.

Is true.

The sin was being executed, there was no way back, there was no redemption for my chewing on its thicc legs.

There ain't forgiveness for me, as I'm drowning on your sweet lies charming my tongue.

Or so I thought...

After accomplishing maelstroms of pleasure with the poor creature... there was confusion.

Engulfing those meats was marvelous as an act, but what is this sensation that now overlaps its greatness in my stomach?

Could it be?

Could it be that eating a creature of such kind at this time of the night could become in this much of a hassle?, can so much joy become into a punishment?

My stomach roars in agony now... for the now eaten creature causes a painful sensation of oblivion...

I have been cursed, cursed by the silliness of a beautiful mirage.

And in my head, just a singular interrogation... "why?"

I have learn now a valuable reason. I have become wiser. I have mature.

Eating the heated product of those shining mechanical lights is just the begging of a long travel, a travel through the darkness of my sanctuary.

Through long corridors that will make me find myself flying in the wings of a lullaby, in my bathroom, where I will spend beautiful eternities.