And that’s why you should learn to pick your battles.:

Laura: You’d be crazy not to buy that. I mean, look at it. IT’S FULL OF WHIMSY.

Then we flagged down a salesman, and we were all “What can you tell us about these chickens?”, as if we were in an art gallery, and not in a store that specializes in last years’ bathmats. He didn’t know anything about them, but he said that they’d only only sold one and it was to a really drunk lady, and then Laura and I were all “SOLD. All this chicken belongs to us now.”

Then we got to my house and quietly snuck the chicken up to my front door, rang the doorbell, and hid around the corner.

Knock-knock, motherfucker.

Victor opened the door and looked at the chicken in stunned silence for about 3 seconds. Then he sighed, closed the door and walked away.

Laura: What the fuck? That’s it? That’s the only reaction we get?

me: That’s it. He’s a hard man to rattle.

Then when the UPS guy came I hid, but he was all “Dude. Nice chicken” and Victor yelled, “IT IS NOT A NICE CHICKEN”.

I told him that he could move Beyoncé if he wanted to, but he totally hasn’t. Probably because of all of the giant rocks I piled on Beyonce’s feet to dissuade burglars. Or possibly because Beyoncé is growing on him.