By Mike of the Ornery Young Gunz

Every now and then there comes an opinion from the Left to which the only acceptable response is derisive mockery. The following is a long-form version of a satirical reply to the New Yorker article (with a few modifications). For the LULZ (and posterity in case I ever get banned from Twitter for trolling the little Left-wing darlings).

I remember when Chick-fil-A came to my town. Everyone thought they were harmless then, too. But I know the truth about the cult of chicken-eaters. Beware their sweet smiles and polite service, it all is an insidious lie.

We were a small college suburb of Fedora-wearing atheists, woke millennial hipsters and angry Marxists, blissfully unware of such things as chicken-sandwiches, good manners, and personal hygiene. It wasn’t a simple life, but being trendy and hip and just plain better than everyone else never is.

The first time I’d even heard of Chick-fil-A was while I was sharing woke selfies on Instagram with captions on the need to raise awareness of non-binary gender fluidity. I was a pansexual otherkin at the time when I heard about their rabid bigotry against the LGBTQRXTUV community.

The CEO had an archaic bourgeoisie belief that marriage was between a man and a woman! Imagine being so bucolic as to think in such a retrograde repressive binary! I knew they had to be stopped, and so I went with a small group of friends to resist this tool of the Patriarchy.

They said that the CEO’s belief had no bearing on corporate policy or hiring practices or how their employees treated paying customers, but *I* knew better. Only now do I realize how right I was, and how wrong I wish I’d been.

It was a hot day in the summer of ‘09. We were dressed in our doc martens & skinny jeans, our keffiyehs uncomfortably warm under the noonday sun, but we would resist in solidarity w/ all repressed peoples. We could see them smiling in sick, sadistic satisfaction from our suffering

They thought they could break us by offering us free food and water. One of the redneck rubes waiting in line even offered to buy us each one of Chick-fil-A’s chilled frosty lemonades, but we. Would. Resist. Until one by one, we each broke.

Maybe it was the insufferably hot weather. Maybe it was their inhumanly smiling sweetness. Maybe there was some fried-food pheromone in the air. But one by one, we fell victim to their trap. My god, if I only had known what awaited us that fateful day.

I remember taking a bite of their chicken sandwich. Ye gods! I had never tasted anything so delicious in my life. It was nothing like my mother’s non-GMO kale-infused organic avocado toast! I was filled with immense happiness and a desire to eat more! I took another bite, then a sip of their delicious albeit overly sweet lemonade.

And then…it happened. I could feel these…“changes” inside me. No longer did I identify as a polyamorous two-spirit named Falafel & George. I was overcome by this innate understanding that there were only two genders and that marriage should between them and them alone.

But it didn’t stop there! I kept eating, uncontrollably this time. It was like I was possessed. I started thinking homosexuality was a sin and every time someone said, “thank you” I barked out a Pavlovian “my pleasure!” even if they were talking to someone else.

I tried to hang my head in shame as I returned home but all I could do was smile pleasantly. I didn’t have to say anything to my parents. They could tell by my sincerely happy demeanor what had happened. I had partaken of the Devil’s Chicken. Satan’s Sammy. It was Pollo Madness.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US!” my mother, a Marxist professor of intersectional feminism yelled at me. My father -a proud beta millennial- said nothing because he knew to speak up and interrupt my mother was toxic mansplaining, and to discipline me would be abusive and smother my innate need to express myself. But he was clearly distraught.

They kicked me out that night. Disowned me. Where I had once been a 30-something living comfortably in my parent’s basement, I now was on my own. I had nowhere to turn to. Except one place. The same place that had made me what I am today.

I ran to the Chick-fil-A that had corrupted me. They could give me a job! Money! Or at least some more of that irresistible white meat (I was shocked to now discover how the thought no longer filled me w/ shame over my white privilege.) But alas, it was Sunday! They were closed!

I bawled in rage & despair! How could a business be closed on Sunday! How could they tell their employees to stay home w/ their families on a weekend! Didn’t they know corporate America doesn’t look out for the well-being & happiness of their workers? It only crushes their souls!

I had nowhere to turn. I looked aimlessly on the ground for trash, hoping to find a discarded fry or a half-eaten sandwich, but no, those dastardly tricksters had left the place immaculate, spotless. I started to itch.

I slept on a park bench that night. I would have offered to suck dick for a Chick-fil-A sandwich, but after consuming their conversion therapy chicken I knew that such was a sexual sin & offensive in the eyes of God, who I now suddenly believed in! I had hit rock bottom in one day.

I woke up nauseous and heart sick, wanting more CFA chicken even as I knew what it would do my mind and body. It consumed me. Almost as much as the newfound involuntary desire to love and serve my fellow man and be a good Christian.

Was this how the Mormons got their followers?

But I couldn’t help myself. And besides, what choice did I have? My family had rejected me. I no longer fit in with my friends -except for the ones who had fallen for the same trap as I did. And I now realized what a monumental waste of time & money a masters in gender studies was. So, I got a job at a local Chick-Fil-A.

It’s not so bad. I get a decent paycheck, health benefits, and one free meal a day. They know they have me hooked, and there’s nothing I can do about. Nothing, but warn you. Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Don’t fall for the trap of Chick-Fil-A.

They may seem nice and sweet and only want to pleasantly sell you scrumptious sandwiches, but they are secretly a dark and sinister force, preying on the innocent and unsuspecting, luring them in with the promises of fried deliciousness.

Don’t forget my story. It is a tragic tale of caution & woe. It happened to me. It can happen to you. Chick-Fil-A would have you be happy & satisfied, when you could be miserable & discontent like I used to be. How I long for my old life, but it’s too late for me. But it’s not too late for you!

So please! Share my story! Let the world know of the danger of the Fried Chicken Empire! Don’t let another sweet innocent victim fall prey to the wiles of Christian comfort food!

It may already be too late. I heard recently they infiltrated New York City, the last bastion of the cultural elite & the woke. If that’s true, we are all doomed. For it NYC falls to the chicken cult, what chance does the rest of dumb backwards America have?

#OrneryOpinions