For almost two years now, I’ve faced relentless bullying from friends and coworkers over my choice of cuisine.
I’m not calling anyone out by name – they fucking know who they are – but I believe I’ve reached the point of harassment where I feel forced to come out publicly in defence of canned chicken.
Yep, canned chicken. It’s like canned tuna, only chicken. I personally cannot, for the life of me, figure out why people seem to be so repulsed by the idea of shredded chicken breast in a tin.
I bet $40k that the same people who look down on canned chicken have had their tongues so deep in ass, they can taste what the person ate four weeks ago.
I don’t judge others for anus-diving and I expect that level of respect to be reciprocated.
No longer will I hang my head in shame as I apprehensively pull my delicious canned chicken out from the depths of my bag.
No longer will I wait until I get home to eat my canned chicken, away from the gaze of judgemental eyes.
No longer will I say, “Mmmm, smells good” when someone microwaves fucking eggs at work. Eggs. Microwaved. Why are we not talking about this? Why is this not illegal in all eight states and territories? What, so I can’t legally do ket in the privacy of my own home, but these monsters can legally stink out an entire office without getting 10 years community service and a lashing?
Get. Wrecked.
Do you know how many times people have had the audacity to throw shade at my poor canned chicken, while simultaneously scooping out their minced fish from an identical-looking can? The hypocrisy is astounding.
It doesn’t stop there, either. I’ve had shop assistants look at me like I was a convicted puppy-killer when I discreetly tried to sneak my precious chicken through the self-serve checkouts.
My Mum says that people’s judgement stems from their sheer jealousy. I can’t help it if I’m pretty and super duper cool, so I shouldn’t be attacked for something as trivial as canned chicken just because there’s not one other flaw for people to pick on.
Do you think I wanted to be this flawless? Thanks a lot, parents. Look what you’ve done. I’m a social pariah because of your perfect genes.
Here’s the clincher though: not one of the people who kicked me in the dick for my chicken choices have even tasted it themselves.
That’s the equivalent of someone saying they don’t like to get blackout and charged with drunk and disorderly, having never been blackout drunk nor arrested in their sad, sober lives.
Don’t knock it ’til you try it, you pack of holier-than-thou hypocrites.
Now look, I’m a reasonable man. If someone tastes something and it’s not for them, I’ll only spend one, maybe two years trying to convince them that they’re actually wrong. But after those two, maybe three years of peer pressure are over, I’ll let them live their lives. They’re living it wrong, but who am I to judge?
Recently, I stopped buying canned chicken altogether after a friend sent me a text saying they’re done hanging out with someone ‘who constantly disrespects themselves’. But you know what? Fuck that. My mate can choke on their tuna – I choose chicken over friends any day.
Turns out they weren’t talking about the canned chicken (they were addressing my various other self-destructive habits), but the point remains: I can always make more friends, but I can’t make tuna taste like chicken.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
