Your dinner has been sitting there at least four seconds. How come you haven't scarfed it up?
I don't want it.
What? Am I hearing right? It's Cluck-A-Doodle, your favorite.
Not any more. I want real chicken, like The Writer and Her Husband have. You know, with bones and crispy crackly skin. My food is just goopy.
I know a way you can get that kind of chicken.
I saw an ad in today's newspaper.
An ad? Is somebody giving away a truckload of real chicken?
No. You have to do what the ad person wants for the chicken.
If it gets me real chicken with bones and crispy crackly skin, I'll do anything.