Thursday, July 26, 2012

The Rotten Chicken Wing

Me: Let's pretend to be dogs and bark.
Angry Chicken Wing Boy: Okay! Woof!
Me: Ha! You said Oeuf! Which is French for egg.

At the playground we go to is a boy who turns everything you say into "chicken wing." It starts off every single visit as him taunting anyone else at the playground with the challenge, "lat one up the slide is a rotten chicken wing." This quickly devolves into him just yelling, "CHICKEN WING!!" angrily at anyone near enough for him to pretend is actually trying to get up the slide before him. Which - incidentally - nobody is. A little while later he'll inevitably be pulled aside by his mother who tells him to calm down and just play nicely. Which he seems to try and do. Except his mentally unstable lust for deriding everyone around him as rotten chicken wings leads him to have a conversation like this (as he did with my daughter) -:

Boy: How old are you?
Daughter: I'm nearly five. It's my birthday next month.

Then he'll throw himself violently down a slide. Weirder is if he's at the bottom of the playground he'll take whatever is said in response to a question (and I really do mean anything) and reply sharply that it proves the other person is a rotten chicken wing - and then try and bolt up the nearest slide to win a race that nobody else is taking part in. Except he's not very good at it and/or other people are already playing. So he rarely ever actually wins. Most times he wont even make it up the slide - stumbling about like a mad horse before repeatedly sliding back down in his angry little face. What would be an embarrassing failed attempt for an older teenager to get up the slide will be observed almost nonplussed by the five and six year old's around him as he just gets both more and more worked up by his own failure, and more and more triumphant about being the winner of a one-man race. But because he's only six that sense of a sad, pathetic idiot is somewhat missing. It sort of reminds me of when we'd play football at lunchtime at school, and no matter what the actual score was when the bell rang everyone on both sides of the game would pompously boast about how they thrashed the other team. The specific part about turning anything any other kid said into a confession that they said chicken wing is the most bizarre part. Actually it reminds me a Lee and Herring sketch about Histor's Eye in which one of the birds changes every sentence to include an avian reference and the word egg.

What's best though is that usually when this boy arrives is at the start of a swimming lesson when another forty kids are all running around ignoring him. With that many kids around my son wants me to play with him.So I'm up on the playground equipment with him - sliding down the slides and climbing stuff. Ten minutes later when the majority of people have buggered off for a swim all that is usually left are this boy, his sister, my son and I and maybe a few other kids. My son will then play with his sister while the Chicken Wing boy has been made to sit in some sort of Timeout by his mother for - once again - descending into a tirade of angry proselytizing, but ultimately failing to do so and just descending to screaming at everyone around him. Periodically he'll be allowed to try playing calmly again - but you can see the rageful lust of mentioning chicken wings bubbling up beneath the surface. At which I'm ashamed to say that I'll be up on top of the twirly slide and I'll bet my son that I can get down to the bottom by climbing down before he can slide down. I'll call that game something like Chicken Chaser and I'll add the caveat that nobody is allowed to do anything like fly with their wings. I have even flat out copied entire catch phrases from Histor's Eye and said the above "Oeuf French for egg" comment just to be a knob. Two minutes later and that little boy always snaps again - usually yelling like the singer of a Japanese Djent band at absolutely no one as he repeatedly fails to climb up a slide because it's too slippery for him to get up. Then me and my kids go home.

Lastly yesterday I also witnessed something I'd only ever seen one time before. And that was a person (in this case - a fully grown woman) eating Ramen Noodle raw right out of the packet as if it were a candy bar. If you don;t know what that is think the shitty, dry noodle things (like Supernoodles in the UK if they still have those) that taste like toenails soaked in chemical powders. So these things -:

The only other time I saw this was at university when I was doing my MA in Buffalo, and a in the library was just crunching away on one like those weirdo's on naff reality shows who eat glass - entirely unaffected by the fact that what they're eating is inedible to most of the population. Obviously being me I immediately found myself somehow equating this scene as an indictment of the local cuisine. Then I instinctively extrapolated that into a larger narrative I dally with that tries to figure out why all US snack foods are corn syrup/sugar based (doughnuts, cakes, pastries, etc) but UK ones are savory (sausage rolls, pasties, scotch eggs, etc) - even though that particular theory is so laughably wrong. The next step in my process is to come to my senses and realize that back home we all eat the exact same shit, but try and make it seem more cosmopolitan up by calling it curry or kebab flavored. A prime example being -:

My mouth is crying just at the sight of that thing.


  1. The little boy is you, isn't it? It's you who runs around and shouts about poultry parts, isn't it?

    and, OMFG...seriously? People eat that shit raw...gahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  2. That would have been an interesting Fight Club it-was-me-all-along delusion. But no - the snotty Chicken Wing boy is someone else.