What gives, people? There I am, enjoying a nice walk through Donaldson Run Park and I find a poor, lifeless rubber chicken right next to the path. Sliced up the middle from crotch to sternum, completely gutted, only the skin remaining.

Just as curious as why someone would bother to slit a rubber chicken like that are the questions of why someone would bring it to and leave it in the woods and why rubber chickens have held such an important place in our lexicon of humor when really they are only funny when you find them gutted in the park like this. Not all mysteries are meant to be solved, I guess.

This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs

Carl Weaver

Carl Weaver is a writer and brewer for RealHomebrew.com and has been making beer and wine for more than 20 years. He is also an avid photographer and writer and just finished his first book, about a trip he took to Thailand to live in Buddhist monasteries. He considers himself the last of the Renaissance men and the luckiest darned guy in the world. Follow him on Twitter.