I get it. 

When you’re selling stuff, you have to make it seem like you have the best stuff, or that you have the cheapest stuff, or that your stuff is the cheapest and the best stuff.

Whatever the case, you’re trying to convince people to hand over their dirty, filthy dollar bills to you.

But sometimes, I just don’t believe the pitchman.

Case in point, the other day a guy on television was trying to sell me his chicken sandwiches. 

He did this by saying that it matters how the chickens are raised, which OK, fine. I mean, a chicken raised in a toxic waste dump, fed only the bones of its progenitors is probably not going to be a very tasty chicken. 

However, it was the next line that blew my mind. I was expecting him to say his chickens aren’t pumped full of steroids, fed antibiotics or allowed to vape.

Instead he said, “Our chickens are raised in a low stress environment.”

A low stress environment? What does that even mean? Do his chickens all have personal assistants who take their chicks to school, get their coffee and make their lunch?

Are there chicken accountants hired to make sure the chickens don’t have to worry about their taxes?

“Good news, as a chicken you’re not going to need all that much money to retire,” the accountant says. The accountant then leaves, passing a man with an ax headed into the coop. 

How much stress can a chicken’s life be? They just aimlessly walk around clucking, pecking and not flying at all. They don’t know the difference between a mutual fund and an annuity … OK, that’s a bad example because I probably don’t know either. 

That doesn’t change the fact that chickens are pretty content creatures as they’re not worried in the least about their financial future. As long as someone throws some feed on the ground once a day, chickens have nothing to worry about. 

No chicken is concerned about going to college, getting a job or finding a decent mortgage rate. Even if a chicken is bothered about such things, it would be pointless. It’s not like the nice people at Zions Bank are going to give a chicken a 30-year loan for $300,000. They’d be absolute fools to do so. Even without the guy with the ax, chickens don’t live that long. Especially sandwich chickens. 

They also don’t have careers to get upset about. Eat grain and bugs, and then get turned into sandwiches. There’s no other career path for them. Even though they already have their wings, they can’t be pilots. Nor can they be park rangers, doctors or consultants. 

The most stressful part of chicken life is when the neighbor’s dog or children get in the pen and chase them around, and that seems like it would be a fun break more than anything. Even a creature with a brain the size of a pea has to get bored with walking around looking for bits of corn to eat all day. Being chased would be a welcome disruption in the monotony. 

Heck, sometimes that’d be a welcome break in my life. I’m sitting here typing and typing, and then BAM! In comes a timber wolf and starts chasing everyone in the office around. Sure, we’re a little worried about bites, rabies and canine diabetes, but it’s a nice break. It’s a few minutes of exercise to get the blood pumping. It’s healthy, really. 

Perhaps it’s a little unhealthy that I view being chased by a ravenous wolf as preferable to my normal office duties, but the heart wants what it wants. 

Instead the most running we do in our office is when someone announces “cake in the break room.” 

Since it doesn’t have legs, the cake doesn’t stand a chance.

Follow David Anderson on 

Twitter at twitter.com/cruizerdave

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