China-focused Satire, Social Commentary, Comics and More

Dear Rooster That Tried to Fly and Smashed Into a Wall

Dear Rooster That Tried to Fly and Smashed Into a Wall,

We have no sympathy. Despite your uncontrollable flapping and squawking, despite the fact that you are shown here sliding upside-down along that brick wall, as though thrown by some vicious young farmhand, we know that you were victimized by nothing but your own self-delusions and pigheadedness.

Forgive my allusion to that other domesticated creature, but perhaps this little event we witnessed is evidence that the phrase ought to be changed to better portray the characteristics of the farm-animal kingdom. While the bigger beasts, the swine and bovine, are typically cast as the stubborn and foolish, here we see the pompous lord of the roost displaying those very traits at incomparable levels.

We saw as the other roosters charged you – quite uncalled for, I’m sure, but nothing to merit the cowardly dive you took down to our dirt path. Surely you too would have shown no mercy had one of your peers stupidly wandered too near the edge; that is the chicken code: to strike when there is no danger of retaliation. But instead of pulling yourself up on your twiggy legs and having a good laugh, you puffed out your fluffy chest and proceeded to scuffle and trash-talk like some concussed amateur boxer.

Needless to say, you were in no state to accept the sudden intrusion of two towering humans – foreigners, no less – and so we were forced to watch as you attempted not only to regain your status and composure but to defy the very laws of nature. It was then that you learned this harsh lesson, which we happened to catch on the unforgiving format of digital imagery: chickens cannot fly.

You made it not halfway up the wall before going inverted. Feathers sprayed. The red thing below your beak flapped abjectly. Your grotesque talons scraped hopelessly against the bricks. It was cringeworthy, embarassing, pitiful.

Yet you still insisted on puffing that chest of yours. Perhaps after centuries of breeding your species has appropriated the Chinese sense of saving face, which, in its flagrant defiance of actual circumstances, only makes the cracks in the guise of coolness more obvious and absurd.

We were not fooled, chicken. We know your wings are useless. We know your sorry life will not undergo improvement until you’re bathing in cube form in a bowl of stir-fried peanuts and brown sauce. We know that one day your claws will be packaged airtight and sold as a snack in a Chinese supermarket. So go on, chicken, back to that never-ending shuffling match from which you tumbled, and display that roosterheadedness among your own kind.


This Ridiculous World

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