I heard on the radio a few years ago that somebody had done a study to see whether people actually felt better after breaking dishes (I think it was specifically breaking dishes, but it was seriously years ago and I am not sure of the details, and I may be conflating it with a report about a place that was basically a pay-to-break-dishes deal) and found that they did not. Venting generally not effective, was the conclusion, as I recall. FWTW
'Smile Time'
Natter 72: We Were Unprepared for This
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
When I'm in a better mood, I always stick my hand up the chicken butt and make it dance and sing when I'm rubbing the inside with spices.
That's an image that's going to stick with me.
I think D and M seriously questioned my sanity the first time they saw it. But the cook makes the rules!
I think D and M seriously questioned my sanity the first time they saw it. But the cook makes the rules!
Apparently the cook also makes the entree her bitch.
I'm INTERACTING WITH and HONORING my entree. Jeez. I always sing a thank-you to Mr. Chicken!
I always sing a thank-you to Mr. Chicken!
And it's apparently choreographed.
My roasted chickens have a hell of a high kick.
When I'm in a better mood, I always stick my hand up the chicken butt and make it dance and sing when I'm rubbing the inside with spices.
I want this to involve a GUESS WHAT? CHICKEN BUTT! call and response.
My roasted chickens have a hell of a high kick.
And do they bring all the boys to the yard?
My songs are actually pretty boring: "Thank you chicken, you will be delicious! I have my salty hand up your butt now! I"M RUBBING THE CHICKEN BUTT! RUB, RUB, CHICKEN BUTT!"
Although one time, I'd had some wine and I made the chicken sing Lionel Richie's "Hello" which turned into BWACK BWACK's to the tune of Hello. (Yes, I slow-danced with a dead chicken on my hand.)
And one time I did "Copacabana."
Her name was Lola/She was a chicken
With yellow feathers for her hair/And her breasts cut down down to there
She would merengue/As I chopped-chopped
And while she tried to stay afar/My husband tended bar
Across the kitchen floor
He'd worked from 8 to 4
We're kinda young and we have a chicken, who COULD ASK FOR MORE?
...You should probably have me committed.