Well fancy seeing you here...

Hello and welcome to the rambling rollercoaster of useless ponderings, strung together in what the internet calls a "blog," and the voices call a waste of everyone elses time.

Please check your sanity at the door (along with your dignity, logic, principles, good taste and prejudices against daftness.)

"I am here to seduce you into a love of life; to help you to become a little more poetic; to help you die to the mundane and to the ordinary so that the extraordinary explodes in your life." -Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

Sunday, 13 April 2008

Mike and the Mozza Militia

Why does Morrissey have to be such a militant vegetarian?

I don't have the willpower to radically overhaul my diet, or suffer through miserable meals with only my principles to sweeten the taste. The animal-loving-PETA-supporting fluffy side of me would love to be so righteous - but I simply cannot be bothered. That's a terrible, but honest, admittance of apathy. I like a traditional Sunday roast, and can't imagine giving it up because I'm feeling sorry for a chicken.

Don't get me wrong - I feel sorry for chickens all the time. They can't fly very well, which seems harsh as they're birds. They're quite ugly little blighters - at least in comparison to Swans and Golden Eagles. Mind you, we have that sort of inequality within our own species too - as demonstrated by the yawning chasm between myself and Naomi Campbell! (In that metaphor - I'm the chicken. Not her. In case you were wondering.)

The only chicken that has ever impressed me was called Mike. I learned about him on QI. Apparently he lived for almost two years without a head. Mike the Headless Chicken! There's a little voice in my head that is telling me to delete this and shut up. It says; "You just mentioned Mike the Headless Chicken. You do realise that you just mentioned MIKE the headless CHICKEN?!"
The other part of my brain is happily relaying the URL to my fingers so that I can check I remember the website correctly before copying it here for you. Why I think you'll want to visit the website just because I did, I don't know. (Why I think it's a good idea to say something mad about chickens and then admit to hearing voices I don't know either. Both are bad when considered separately, goodness knows how this will be perceived now I've slung them together.)

Now I am worried. I did remember the website correctly. I didn't even have to check to see if it was .com or .co.uk or anything. I haven't looked at this site in years, and yet it stayed that stuck in my head.

If I could memorise normal things that easily I'd be a whiz in Vegas. Unfortunately I don't think there's a market for people who remember useless weird stuff. Not now that we have the Internet.


Quoted from the website:

It was determined that the axe blade had missed the jugular vein and a clot had prevented Mike from bleeding to death. Although most of his head was in a jar, most of his brain stem and one ear was left on his body. Since most of a chicken's reflex actions are controlled by the brain stem Mike was able to remain quite healthy. In the 18 MONTHS that Mike lived as "The Headless Wonder Chicken" he grew from a mere 2 1/2 lbs. to nearly 8 lbs. In a Gayle Meyer interview Olsen said Mike was a "robust chicken - a fine specimen of a chicken except for not having a head." Some long-time Fruita residents, gathered at the Monument Cafe for coffee, also remember Mike - "he was a big fat chicken who didn't know he didn't have a head" - "he seemed as happy as any other chicken."

Now, maybe I'm being thick but..."a fine specimen of a chicken - except for not having a head?" I'd say that not having a head is a pretty big exception! I'd generally not consider anything to be a good example of it's breed if it was missing it's head! I mean - it'd lose you a shed-load of points at Crufts if Mike was a dog.

Saying that - it might be enough to win Britain's Got Talent. Even if it would be a little bit more challenging to fix cosmetically than Paul Potts' teeth last year. I only remember his name because they nicknamed him PavaPotti. I don't really know why he spent so much money on fixing his teeth when he was so *ahem* 'plain looking' anyway. He was married too, so his wife is obviously not shallow. (...It's saying things like that which make me wonder if I am really a nice person.)

Why am I talking about chickens? Oh yes - Morrissey. He would loathe me because not only do I "partake in the poisonous consumption of death" - I don't oppose animal testing for medical purposes either. I am wholly against cosmetic testing on animals. It is unforgivable and I am proud to use Liz Earl skincare products that eschew all animal ingredients and testing procedures. They're the cold-cream equivalent Vegans. (Liz Earl) When it comes to medical testing on animals, I do dislike it, and I would prefer we move toward human volunteers for medical research. I am not opposed to it however, because my family and I have benefited from medicines and therapies that have derived from research conducted on animals. Much as I love animals, when Grandad was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer I would have personally sacrificed every white-mouse on the face of the earth if it bought him a moment of pain-relief, or a few easier breaths. I am selfish - when faced with the simple choice of life for life, I value human life more. That's not to say I would be the same with my pets - I love my animals more than lots of people, but overall I cannot entirely contest the process of animal testing.

In other medical news, they believe they have discovered a treatment to help Alzheimer's disease. They inject a medicine formerly used to treat Arthritis, into the neck of the patient and tilt them upside-down. Apparently the resulting improvement is almost instantaneous. This is marvellous news if the research proves correct. Alzheimer's and Dementia are wicked diseases. I have been exposed to physical disability through my mother's fostering work, and general life experience - but illnesses and accidents that rob someone of their mind always appear far crueller to me. I have coped with my share of challenges throughout the years - but if my mind was at risk I don't think I could continue with the strength I have found to deal with other trials.

Those of you who are still contemplating my inane ramblings about a headless chicken, might believe that my mind is long past the point where I should worry about losing it. You may think that it would in fact be more beneficial, if I concerned myself with finding the bit that has escaped me already. As it is 5am and I am browsing photographs of three-quarters-of-a-chicken, I am inclined to agree with you.

Anyone still reading this should know better by now. Shame on you.

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