her name was chanel no. 2., and i had as little inkling of what that meant until i searched it (to make sure that i wouldn't be required to trademark mark anything) as i was of the chicken's name before she died. chanel no. 1 was so named because of her likeness to her sister coco, and the dead one inherited her name when whatever it was happened to her predecessor went down. i have to admit that i don't know what that was. when the archaeologists dig up the medium size flat rate box of chanel no. 2's remains they'll wonder after her genealogy, and we won't have left a single document to help them. those academics need to learn to live in the present. if portland's highest social hour isn't during sunday brunch then it's sometime between midnight and two a.m. on soul night at rotture. we had to drown our sorrows somehow. so well cocktails and sneers it was. drink it in and drink it up. cheers to you, chanel no. 2!
jerk chicken for dinner last night in memoriam. all twelve legs.
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