Specifically, I stabbed some baked chicken with a fork, and it squirted me with hot chicken juice. This was not so bad when it hit my shirt, because the shirt’s going in the laundry tonight, anyway. It was less delightful when it also sprayed onto my bare arm. But hey, juicy chicken!
And here is what the internet tells me is a “chicken person”, which may explain why it’s delightedly holding the apparently cooked remains of a chicken (non-person).
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