Birdbrains by Thom Bluemel for January 21, 2025

I smell fry chicken.

Usually just the roosters battle.

My Grandma kept chickens for food. When she passed away my Uncle moved into the old house. He was very affected by WW2 combat. He became an alcoholic and lived alone. He got by on a pension and veterans benefits. I visited him one summer at the Grandma’s old house. As we sat in the kitchen I heard chickens. “Uncle! Are you raising chickens?” He chuckled and replied, “Those a fighting roosters.” We stepped outside and there were several cages each with one bird. I told him that it is illegal to have fighting roosters and he could get into trouble. My Uncle pointed to one of the cages, “That one is the Mayor’s rooster.” Then another, “That one belongs to the chief of police.” RIP Sam.

He got henpecked.

Looks like the transgender madness is affecting the fowl.

This is in very poor taste. There is nothing funny about &*&^ fighting.

Munch’s “Scream” is on the fence watching. :)

Hen pecked.