Almost all chicken is raised, and processed in a manner that I will not comment on while you are eating!
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My poor chicken wings, the subject of scorn, and all I wanted was dinner.
But think with me. If nice yards make for happy chickens, and wings, no matter the source, come from dead chickens, is not the world a far better place if we eat the wings of unhappy chickens and leave the happy chickens to frolicking, clucking, plucking bugs from the ground?
And, if we object that happy chickens must also be eaten, then isn’t that actually justification for raising only unhappy chickens, for we do them a service by ending their misery.
You see, the happy chicken crossed the road. That’s why. He wanted to get to the other side.
The unhappy chicken got to the center and waited for traffic. What a waste!
Unhappy Wings I Say! It is mercy!