We don’t have Chick-fil-A where I live and it’s a good thing we don’t because I wouldn’t patronize them if we did.
Not because their chicken sandwiches aren’t succulent, juicy, and delectable, but because I’d rather have a big chunk of breaded bigotry served on a bun with a side of intolerance than support a business whose owners and operators don’t share my extremist special-interest sociopolitical views.
Hate is not a family Val-U-Meal.
I haven’t eaten at McDonalds ever since a friend got a job there as a fry technician, a friend whose views on the debt-ceiling initiative are misguided at best.
Of course I’m referring to Chick-fil-A recently coming out—no pun intended—in favor of traditional marriage, i.e., marriage between a so-called "man" and "woman."
Would you like homophobia with that?
Gay marriage, which Chick-fil-A could do without quite nicely, thank you very much, hasn’t been legal in this country for going on two hundred and fifty years, yet the legal lack thereof has only sparked wailing hand-wringing hysteria and heartbroken despair and tearful boycotts and lobbying for going on five.
What was everyone doing before that?
Chowing down on yummy culture-wars-free wraps, salads, and sammies at places like Chick-fil-A is what, and then going off and being gay as all get out with a big smile on their faces and a filet o’ tasty goodness in their tummies which only a fast-food fix from a drive-thru can provide.
Remember Paul Lynde? Charles Nelson Reilly? All Liza Minnelli’s ex- husbands?
Those cats knew how to be gay, man!
They weren’t holding pissy, politically motivated "kiss-ins" to protest some perfectly legitimate business’s perfectly legitimate if opposing opinion to theirs, the only "kiss-ins" they were engaging in were in pursuit of crazy, wigged-out homo kicks!
As it should be.
These cats knew that everything, if seen in its proper light, is a dirty joke and golden opportunity for a double-entendre suggestively gay hoot!
In the words of another fast food franchise: "Have it your way." Enjoy your frickin’ life.
If a black-owned restaurant offended anybody, would we be hearing cracks about "hate ‘n’ waffles" or, or "hate-lins?" Would anyone be showing up at We Be Chicken’s Watts location, saying, "Yoo hoo! We’re here for Same-Sex Kiss Day!"
I think not.
Chicken sandwiches are chicken sandwiches. With the possible exception of Burger Bob’s "Chickwich," which smokes the competition.
But I’m uneasy with their position on stem-cell research.
For shame, Chick-fil-A. A pox on you and your minimum-wage employees who are probably already just scraping by in this economy. Probably as many of whom support gay marriage as don’t.
People who butcher chicken for a living aren’t the only ones with an ax to grind.
Don’t forget the story of Chicken Little who thought the sky was falling simply because an acorn fell on her head and in short order—no pun intended—convinced Henny Penny, Ducky Lucky, Goosey Loosey, and Turkey Lurkey of the same.
Of course, the sky was only thought to be falling through coercion, connivance, misinformation, demonology, alarmist propagandizing, blind following, and exploitative rabble-rousing and in the end, the sky didn’t fall after all.
Then Chick-fil-A killed Chicken Little and deep-fried her.
—SHIFT
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