Photo via Matt. Matt’s chicken at the Alamo.

For the record, that’s what this bird is: a chicken. Those of you calling her a duck are wrong. Now post more chickens.

Rally Chicken approves.

I stayed up how late/early to watch whaaaa? Good grief, F1. Drivers should be required to do a little dance or juggle fire or something if they leave their cars early. At least Sebring’s tomorrow. 12 HOURS OF CONTINUOUS RACECARS. ON A TELEVISION. RACING. LOTS OF PORSCHES. LOUD NOISES. Excellent.

This is my chicken face.


Until Sebring fires up tomorrow morning, I could use a unicorn chaser, and by “unicorn,” I mean chicken. Please, post chickens.

Photo via Greg. Giving Chicken a hug. Chicken is soft, cuddly and totes adorbs.


I’m not going to get any sleep this weekend because race car. Everything’s ever-so-nicely staggered time-wise that I might get a nap in, or I might not. So much going on this weekend. Sleep? Sleep is for the weak. Let me tell you this: was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? NO. NOW GET BACK IN THERE AND MAKE MORE COFFEE.

Chicken in a yurt.



(Roosters are good, too.)