Quotes About Chicken

My favorite Subway sandwiches are meatball and chipotle chicken.

The best comfort food will always be greens, cornbread, and fried chicken.

The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded and whack the hell out of a chicken.

There is so much blood on this chicken-killer's hands, a little more on his business suit won't hurt.

Rather than making you never want to eat chicken again, it simply makes you angry. It makes you hold a grudge. You'll eat chicken again, by God, and you'll chew really, really hard.

But songbirds are trash, the chicken said, and the guinea hen laughed, saying, Well, then, I guess we could all use a little more trash in our lives.

On the off chance my caller would tell me to quit drinking, I positioned myself on the sofa with two six-packs and a bottle of nice scotch. Then I turned on the TV and ate a sandwich made from leftover chicken lo mein. I call it a Chanwich.

Man ordering at Butera's deli/prepared-foods counter: "Hey, give me one of them chickens what spins around.

The steam rolled out as I opened the container and prepared to eat Dorothy's famous Brookville, Kansas, recipe chicken. It was a religious experience.

West lounged on the floor between her two sons, a heavy forelock of dark hair falling over his forehead. "What does a chicken say?" he asked Stephen, holding up a wooden figure. The toddler took it from him and answered, "Rowwr!" West blinked in surprise and began to chuckle along with Justin. "By God, that is a fierce chicken.

Grandma said that a skillet's good for three things: frying chicken, baking corn bread, and going upside an obstinate man's head.

Oh, is that left over from Shine? I do hope we won't have to eat the food you served to a convicted murderer," Whitney says, clutching her pearls. "He was a triple murderer and he ordered fried chicken," I say. Whitney and her Gang of Idiots are actually taken aback. "Even for you, Queenie Wake, that's low," Piggy Peggy says, looking from Whitney to me. Yes, Peggy, you delivered your line perfectly. "You'd know," I say, stepping forward. She flinches.

Now came details of Goldby's adventures with the Cooks and their band. "Chicken, Dynamite Dick, The Verdigris Kid. I wish these fellows read something other than Ned Buntline's Own. Why haven't I heard of this Goldsby before this?

Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!" Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. "I swear, I'm going to start taking my clothes off!" The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. "Chicken," she said, and paced the room, back and forth.

Well, you're speaking to the only man in Scotland who has a terrible cockstand at sight of a plucked chicken." I spluttered in my brandy and

If you think about a Thanksgiving dinner, it's really like making a large chicken.

I love you more than piranhas love chicken wings.

Memories of my Southern upbringing in Richmond, Virginia, always include the smell of good southern food: fried chicken, cheese grits, Smithfield ham, and buttermilk biscuits.

if you use a standard called "biological value" to rate protein sources... soy finishes far below eggs, milk, fish, beef and chicken. The food with the highest biological value ever measured is whey protein...

Weed, sir. How many times must I tell you, it was weed. Dope. I was sitting with stacks of dope we'd confiscated. And it wasn't a basket, it was a bucket. From Kentucky Fried Chicken. And I wasn't in it.

The fact that Ben has a new riddle book, and wants to entertain us all by reading out every single joke, "Why did the duck cross the road?", "To give the chicken a break.

Somewhere in the lane after that they came level with a small door next to a fried chicken shop. There was a small red-lit sign over this door.

She is possibly the last child they will bring into living, and she is extremely delicate. She dislikes what little food they have but loves chicken and coffee. So, steadily, they have bumped off a long string of chickens to feed her, and she drinks two or three cups of black and parboiled coffee at every meal. Her eyes shine like burning oil and almost continuously she dances with drunkenness.

We enter a time of calamity. Blood on the tarmac. Fingers in the juicer. Towers of air frozen in the lunar wastes. Models dead on the runways, with their legs facing backward. Children with smiles that can't be undone. Chicken shall rot in the aisles. See the pillars fall.