***

This is a special night for me. There are so many kind and beautiful people in the house tonight, many old friends, many people whom I’ve just met and now like very much. Especially you, ladies. But let me tell you why tonight is super-special. Tonight we get to talk about our two favorite subjects—breasts. Women and chicken. Birds, chicks, poultry. Why? That’s what players’ do. Fowlosophize. Y’all know The Colonel. He talks about nothing else.

 Now I want everyone to close your eyes and imagine the scent of your woman—the smile on her face, the joy her kiss provides—and now imagine the taste of Kentucky Fried Chicken. And now imagine your woman tasting like Kentucky Fried Chicken. Just like KFC, but your woman. Original-Recipe Body Oil. Put it on Ebay, and we could get a thousand, two thousand, easy.

No, seriously, the world can be tough, and, at times, we all need some TLC. And so tonight we’re going to talk about three things: 1) the role of meat-eating in human evolution, 2) the nature and origin of the religious experience, 3) the relationship between Kentucky Fried Chicken and feminism, how Kentucky Fried Chicken is inextricably linked to the advancement of women. The more you love chicken, the more you love women. It has been proven scientifically.    

Now tonight, I’m trying to encourage y’all to be healthy, natural. Judging from all the bones I see (we ate 10 buckets before the talk), most of y’all don’t need much encouragement. But there’s been a lot of backlash in the media. Many of y’all have read Fast Food Nation, many of y’all have seen Super Size Me. And you’re a nice man, Morgan Spurlock, but it’s time to get off the high horse and Super Size Deez!!! Fast food is healthy, affordable, and delicious. I don’t know if you realize it, but your film was actually a celebration of freedom, of personal responsibility, for you yourself chose to gain that weight. You could have just as easily gone to McDonald’s and lost it.  
   

Now that you just told Morgan Spurlock to Super Size Deez!!!, please remove your hand from your walnuts, and run your finger along the sharp teeth up front. The canines. You know why you have them? To get those drums. To squeeze that neck, to get those drums. You hear these crazy vegetarians talking and you start to think that fruits and vegetables were the natural diet. Fallacious! If we were still eating fruits and vegetables, we would still be living in the trees. Meat is inextricably linked with human evolution.¹
 

If you’ll look above you’ll see a man standing next to a gorilla—vegetarian. The gorilla’s digestive tract is 40% bigger, his brain 400% smaller. So when humans started eating meat, all those fats and proteins nourished the brain, and the neocortex exploded.² Carnivores are smarter than herbivores, as foxes are smarter than sheep. You can’t digest plants. Anyone who has ever eaten corn, knows this fundamental truth. How many of y’all have ever eaten corn? That’s what I thought.

 

GET SMART 

We need this protein for our brains. Please remember that the brain, at 4% of the human’s body weight, consumes 25% of the body’s oxygen. Oxygen is delivered to the brain through the hemoglobin in our red blood cells, and women have fifteen percent less hemoglobin in their red blood cells. 

The reason for this discrepancy is, of course, menstruation.  Over her lifetime, Claudia loses approximately fifteen gallons of blood due to menses, pregnancy, delivery, birth trauma, placental loss, failure to consume the expelled placenta, and lactation.⁵

The easiest way to replace hemoglobin is through the eating of meat. We cannot get it from plants. Women, especially, need to eat more chicken.35 Especially in the modern world, when delayed marriage and pregnancy contribute to four times the menstrual periods (400 versus 100) that women experienced during hunter-gatherer days.⁶  

Here’s the good news. Over the last fifty years, IQ scores have been rising, a phenomenon scientists attribute to the increase of protein in our diets.  Need I remind you, KFC just recently celebrated its Fiftieth Anniversary.  

The more chicken you can eat, the smarter you can become. Einstein had developed all of his major theories before becoming a vegeterian in the last year of his life, 1955 (The Colonel’s chicken had yet to reach the Northeast). If only Einstein could have held out a little longer. On his deathbed, the great man was still calculating which came first . . .

THE CHICKEN OR THE TITTIE?

We say that Eve came from Adam’s rib, when really he came from her breast (men have nipples because woman is the original form). My momma’s tittie was the first thing I tasted . . . in the year 2 B.C. (Before The Colonel). My momma’s tittie was the first thing I tasted, but when I was inside her womb—chicken legs, gravy, dirty rice. My momma ate lots of chicken and that’s why I am so healthy. And so I got chicken from my momma. But I also came from my daddy’s balls—on the night I was conceived he ate lots of chicken. Extra crispy. Dark meat. My daddy loves dark meat. Dark meat and hot sauce. You know why God made the egg? To have something for the hot sauce. And so my daddy had his chicken. Extra crispy. Dark meat with hot sauce. And he was full of fire, and he loved my momma. After thirty-three years he still loves her, and still loves chicken—the more you love chicken, the more you love women. It’s been scientifically proven. Our cars are designed to run on gasoline, our loins on fried chicken. Think about all the people you know: the more they like chicken, the more they like women. It’s been scientifically proven.⁷  

That night my daddy had eaten fourteen pieces of chicken, and my momma was looking good, feeling good, smelling good—like fresh cantaloupe, washed and peeled—and so my daddy grabbed her, pulled her into the egg house and said, “right now. Let’s make this baby, right now.”
    “Right now?”
    “Now.”
    “Here?”
    “Here.”
    “Why now? Why here?” 
    “Because I believe in you. Because I think you and I can make this world a better place.” (Really he had just eaten a lot of chicken).

MY FIRST SUPPER

And so after nine months of The Colonel’s nourishment, I was born. We hear a lot about the Last Supper, but not enough about the first. The First Supper, just you and your momma. But before that supper comes a slap. The doctor slaps you on the ass, then cuts the umbilical cord. With a cry you come into the world. But you’re handed to your momma. To your momma’s tittie, and then the whole world, the whole universe, is one . . . giant . . . breast. Of course we like big titties. Our first tittie was ten-feet tall. A ten-foot tall tittie. And it comforted us. It feeded us. It was a spiritual tittie. Sigmund Freud believed that sucking your momma’s tittie was the root of the religious experience.⁸ Here Freud was right. Neurologically they are identical. Whenever we feel the Spirit—or the titties—we feel an oceanic oneness, a blessed union with all of creation.⁹ Doesn’t the ocean smell wonderful?

    This oceanic oneness has been proven neurologically. In our minds we have something called the (posterior superior) parietal lobe, which orients us in space. My parietal lobe tells me that that piece of chicken is three feet away, and that the KFC on Broad St. is a mere .46 miles up the road. But when we feel the spirit—or the titties—the parietal lobe is disabled, and the boundary between subject and object is dissolved.¹⁰ That drumstick is me, and I am that drumstick. During the First Supper, your brain is so fragile, so underdeveloped, you don’t know if the milk is coming from you, or from your momma. Shit, you don’t nothing, and your first, and perhaps only, instinct is to suck, to suck your momma’s tittie.
    How many of y’all love nature?
    How many of y’all love titties?
        See?

Now, how many of y’all ladies plan on breast-feeding your babies? (All the ladies say ‘yes’). Please do, please breastfeed your babies. During the first year of breastfeeding, the brain doubles in size. Children who are breastfed are smarter.¹¹ That’s why I’ve never stopped.

But if you plan on breastfeeding your babies, you will need to eat lots of chicken. Every year, a breastfeeding woman needs an additional 90,000 calories. Which translates into an additional 200 pieces of chicken. Lucky ladies. The bond they have with their babies—an additional 200 pieces of chicken.

So that was my first religious experience, that is, my first experience with titties. Now let me tell you about my second religious experience, that is, my first experience with chicken. For two-and-a-half years I breastfed—two-and-a-half years—when there was some talk—a great debate—about me becoming a vegetarian.  My daddy was for it, my mother against. You see, my daddy’s dog Sophocles had just mauled a goat, killed it, and now that Sophocles had the blood on his lips, my daddy had to do something. Once you have the blood on your lips, you have to get more blood on your lips. And so my daddy had to do something.  And so my daddy took a chainsaw, and cut the goat’s head off, and tied it around Sophocles’s neck, and locked the dog in the cellar for three days, until from a mile away you could smell the goat’s head. (Sophocles could smell the goat’s head from two inches away because it was tied to his neck). It was not a fun time, removing that rotten goat’s head from his beloved Sophocles’ neck, and so for a while my daddy was thinking about us going vegetarian.

But then my grandmother came down from Kentucky. With a bucket of . . . the Colonel’s secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. My grandmother took one look at me and handed me a drumstick. It was, I must say, the second happiest moment of my life. At first all I wanted to do was smell it. It was that secret blend. That secret blend, y’all. That secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. I was so happy, my smile was as big as my momma’s titties.
 

SLOWDANCE

Finally I took a bite. Closed my eyes. You should always close your eyes when you eat The Colonel’s chicken. Respect. And so with my eyes closed, for the next three hours, I slowdanced with that chicken bone. Slowdanced. Had my tongue on its neck. And as we moved back and forth to the music, I promised that chicken that I would always be true, and so for the past twenty-seven years have been faithful. 

My parents were watching me slowdance. They were slowdancing beside me. My daddy then gave my momma a kiss and told her that he wanted us all to be natural.

“I do too,” my momma said, “And it looks like that boy was made to eat chicken.”

I took another bite, and then called for my momma. After all that chicken, I needed me some milk. 

You can’t talk about chicken without talking about titties. Breasts, our two favorite subjects. Like a mystic chord of memory, The History of Kentucky Fried Chicken is inseparably connected with the history of Playboy. KFC went nationwide in 1952, Playboy in 1953, and for the past fifty years both have offered innumerous blessings to the globe. 

Some feminists find Playboy liberating, others exploitative. For the latter, I invite you to examine where Playboy is banned: in China, North Korea, India, Burma, Malaysia, Singapore, and in all Islamic countries. And so a country with Playboy is undeniably better than a country without. And as we will see in the penultimate chapter, countries that are blessed with Kentucky Fried Chicken have never seen the brutalities of war.

THE BUCKET OR THE BALLOT?

In 1961, scientists invented the birth control pill, freeing women from the tyranny of the bedroom. However, four years earlier, in 1957, The Colonel invented The Bucket, freeing women from the tyranny of the kitchen. Kentucky Fried Chicken is inseparably linked to the advancement of women. Today, the company has seen its greatest growth under President Cheryl Bachelder. The more you love chicken, the more you love women. It’s been proven scientifically.

PAM = KFC

Now as you may know, Pamela recently criticized KFC for inhumane treatment. But Pamela Anderson is Kentucky Fried Chicken. The use of science to make the perfect bird. Pamela, God bless her, has a big heart. But what she doesn’t realize is that her problem with KFC is her problem with herself.

Colonel Harland Sanders was born on September 9, 1890, in Henryville, Indiana. He was the oldest of three children. When he was five years old, his father passed away, and so The Colonel had to raise his younger brother and sister while his mother worked in the factory. (Colonel, I’m depending on you, son, to pull the family through. My son, it’s up to you). And so at five years old, The Colonel learned to cook. At the age of seven, he made his first loaf of bread from scratch, and was so proud of himself, he walked three miles down a dirt road to deliver it to his momma. 

IF MOMMA AIN'T HAPPY . . .  

And so at an early age, The Colonel began a life of serving women. Over the years, he had fifteen different jobs:

• farmhand
• soldier
• locomotive fireman
• railroad section-hand
• aspiring lawyer (his sixth-grade education did not prevent him from practicing)
• insurance salesman
• ferryboat entrepreneur
• Chamber of Commerce secretary
• tire salesman
• amateur obstetrician: “Sanders delivered all those babies because he was afraid some were his.”¹²
• unsuccessful political candidate
• gas station operator
• motel operator
• restauranteur
• King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Prince of Chickens

The more you love chicken, the more you love women. The Colonel remembered how tired his mother was, after a long day at the factory. He remembered how she wanted to curse, but refrained. But with his Bucket of Chicken, his “Sunday Dinner, Seven Days a Week,” he developed something quick, cheap, and easy. Its golden brown color would make a grown man cry and all his children smile. 

When The Colonel was sixty-five, he discovered that the new Interstate Highway would bypass the town of Corbin, Kentucky. His hotel and restaurant would soon be worthless. And so he sold them, and was now broke, his only source of income a $105 monthly Social Security check. Most people would have stayed at home, and rotted quietly on the front porch. But most people are not evangelists. Most people are not Colonel Harland David Sanders.

Above all, he was a man of indomitable courage. If we seek the genius of Harland Sanders, we will find it in the fact that he would not be conquered. No matter how often or how brutally life knocked him down, he rose to his feet once more, staggering and bloody perhaps, but determined to stand and try once more. He was unusual in that he would not recognize defeat. He succeeded mainly because he refused to fail.¹³

And so The Colonel traveled the country, slept in the ack of his Cadillac, its trunk packed with white suits, pressure cookers, and his secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. He would enter a restaurant, dressed angelically! and would ask the owner if he could cook up a batch of his Original Recipe Kentucky Fried Chicken. The Colonel worked off commission, a nickel a chicken. Since The Colonel kept the recipe, The Colonel kept control. But ten years and 1000 franchisees later, The Colonel sold his company for 2,000,000 dollars. He declined stock options, didn’t believe in them. Had he accepted stock, The Colonel would be as rich as he should be, that is, richer than William H. Gates III.

I want y’all to think about it seriously: With The Colonel’s chicken and hot cracklin’ gravy, the Cold War would have ended much sooner. In the early 60’s, The Colonel had a plan. “Well [Khruschev] is now out of work. They wore him out and then they put him out. Now he’s sick. His problem is he ain’t working. I’m going to go over there and teach him how to cook my chicken—get him back on his feet.”¹⁴ The Colonel was on the plane to Moscow, when the pilot informed the passengers that Khruschev had passed. If The Colonel had left one day earlier, Khruschev would have tasted his chicken, thus ending the Cold War. You know why the East Germans tore down the wall.

Who could bring Peace in the Middle East? The Colonel. Colonel Harland David Sanders, born September 9, 1890.  

The Colonel could have easily solved the whole Bush Jr./Saddam Conflict. He would have dressed them in identical white suits, sat them down, and served up his chicken—that secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. Worked that shit out. Who would you rather have: General Donald Rumsfeld or Colonel Harland David Sanders? The Colonel for General. 

Like the most of y’all, I’m not fully satisfied with the state of our planet. But I do know one thing. I can go anywhere in the world and get The Colonel’s chicken. The best damned chicken that has ever been cooked.

The Colonel sprung from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God, a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that. And he must be about his mother’s business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious gravy.

1. Aiello and Wheeler. 1995.  “The Expensive Tissue Hypothesis,” Current Anthropology 34: 184-93.
2. Aiello and Wheeler. 1995.
3. www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/overwt.htm
4. Shlain. 2003.
5. Females comprise 71% of vegeterians (JL Bedford and SI Barr of the University of British Columbia).
6. Shlain. 2003.
7. Clinton. 2004. My Life. New York: Knoph, 2004.
8. Freud, S. 1925. Civilization and Its Discontents. “An infant at the breast does not as yet distinguish his ego from the external world as the source of the sensations flowing in upon him. He gradually learns to do so, in response to various promptings.” Compare Matthew 18:3:“Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”
9. Newberg, Andrew, Eugene D’Auili, and Vince Rause. 2001. Why God Won’t Go Away. New York: Ballantine Books.
10. Newberg, et. al. 2001.
11. Reinisch, J. 2002. Journal of American Medical Association.
12. Pearce, J. 1982.
13. Pearce, J. 1982.
14. Darden, R. 2002. Secret Recipe: Why KFC is Cooking After All These Years. Irving, Texas: Tapestry.
 

Leather-bound, lavishly illustrated.

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