The Chicken Feed

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The Sploosh Manifesto

Posted on June 15th, 2009 by Alastair Craig
Here at ThatChickenSite.com: The Official Website of ThatChickenSite.com, we have plenty to be proud of.  A Really Very Excellent Podcast.  A few million fooled Star Wars fans.  Several wasted seconds of Noam Chomsky’s time.  Not to mention (but mentioning anyway) the satisfaction of bringing a little extra fun into people’s lives for nearly a decade.

Yet for all the hard work, The Rubber Chicken’s single finest moment lies burried deep in our painstakingly-restored archives, in a short but profound June 22, 2003 post by Brett “Mister Bung” Cullen.

“Ladies and gentlemen”, he wrote:

I think, by this point, you’re seeing my argument.

And so we return an older, wiser, but rejuvenated Chicken Site.com, more open to frequent shorter posts, new writers, community interaction and not spending four hours trudging through HTML in Windows Notepad just to post a freaking update.
Willing, in short, to admit the rest of the Internet might be on to something with the heathen hanky-panky of “blogging”.
Take heed, presently-absent readership.  No hurdle, practical or ethical, will stop us from winning you back.

Splooshindeed, my friends.Splooshindeed.

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If there’s one thing that can be said about The Rubber Chicken, then I guess logically this sentence is it.
Luckily, that’s not the case. In fact, the things that can be said about this uproarious, delightful little cyber-corner of information-super-whimsy are probably as numerous (if not more-so) as the site’s oddly diverse readership. And I do use the word “oddly” with calculated discretion, because despite the fact that we make jokes all the time about how we have no readers, the fact is that we do have them. We have quite an inventory, honestly.

This is due to the fact that TRC is unusually well-Googled. People type things into search-engines, scan down the list of results and routinely choose our site as the solution to whatever quandary it is that’s driven them to type key-words into a text-box.

Driven by curiosity, boredom and hubris, I decided this month to take a peek at the man behind the curtain (this is a Wizard of Oz metaphor, not me walking in on a guy showering), and leaf through our visitation statistics for April 2007. Herein, I came upon the full list of keywords typed into search-engines like Google that then resulted in people clicking on us.

Below are some of the highlights, and boy do they present a nightmarish cross-section of the kind of people YOU apparently are. Bear in mind, you filthy cadre of rat-like degenerates, that I am not making up these search results for a laugh. This is honestly what you people are looking for when you end up finding us. May God have mercy on you.

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Here we are in Paris, France, enjoying ourselves at the expense of what we at ThatChickenSite.com naively consider your entertainment.  (This chicken, purchased in Barcelona, Spain, represents everyone else’s motivation, which always leaves when I do.  It’s an awkward metaphor, yes.  Let’s not dwell.)

Upon returning, it’s time for a long-overdue all-star action makeover. TRC has transformed considerably under this design’s iron dictatorship, virtually into an entirely new site twice over. The time has come, the walrus said, to catch the fuck up already.

That means stripping the operation down to its pasty white foundations: silly movies, the nitpicking of obscure early 90s cartoons, and anything else that maintains the sense of fun that has made this site such a joy to work on (when we could be bothered), over the last seven years. Anything not serving the Prime Directive will be unceremoniously swept under the couch or tweaked with enough reckless historical revisionism to give George Lucas violent convulsions.

The podcast shall bounce back for a second, more sketch show-y season. Shed no tears; we’ll try to space episodes more evenly between other material. The last few months of podcast-podcast-podcast was a necessary evil – a refreshing break from spelling and punctuation, and hopefully one you enjoyed. But it was just a phase. Like puberty, but with canoes in place of erections.

And did I mention regular updates?
Ha ha ha, no, I most certainly did not.



You may have noticed that Something Awf The Rubber Chicken’s poll has been closed down for nearly eight billion years, displaying the mysterious message “closed while we search for a poll service that hasn’t whored itself to pop-up adver-

Okay, the message is way too long, and is a lie anyway so I’m not going to bother trying to remember the rest of it. Instead, here’s the dirty and somewhat obvious truth: nobody’s been searching for anything. In fact, the “administration” here (hahahahahahahahahahaha) has gladly forgotten all about its extinct poll the same way they cried their crocodile tears about September 11th, and then partnered with Halliburton during the privatization of Iraq. You’re probably wondering where Chad is. Well, he’s in an oil derrick outside Fellujah (Microsoft Word Dictionary: “Elijah?”).

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