The Jake Loves The Chicken Insides.

The thing about The Jake that I keep forgetting is that he's a dog. It doesn't really matter how much I talk to him or how many physics textbooks I leave in his crate... he's still an animal. It's therefore perfectly normal that, upon discovering a pulpy piecemeal chicken in the neighbor's yard, he would not immediately grab a plastic trash bag and a rake.

The Jake loved his dead chicken parts, both the inside parts and the outside parts. I was just as likely to see him prancing through the yard shaking a chicken leg around as I was to spy him hunkered under the trampoline lovingly licking some spleen. Yes, this love affair vacillated from the flirtatious to the profoundly moving to the tragic "wait, where's the rest of my chicken?" on trash day. Allow me to sort of illustrate:

We all know The Jake.




Can we agree for the purposes of this reminisce that this stuffed fish (dubbed "Farto" by an ex-boyfriend who is now, no doubt, a captain of fucking industry) is our chicken? If we can't, then I'm sorry. I guess I should have killed another chicken for you, Mr. Unable To Imagine That Stuffed Toys Are Mangled, Bloody Animals. Hold on, there's a cute fuzzy little baby chicken cooing outside... I'll go bludgeon her and snap some pictures of the carnage.




Okay. Jake meets The Chicken.




The mutual attraction is palpable. If there has ever been a relationship worthy of Microsoft Paint, this is it.




Kathryn hit the proverbial dream nail on the dream head, here. The Jake dreams about his chicken all the time (how do I know, you ask? I read his journal.) and when he gets to the part where he gets to snap that wishbone, he always wishes for a second chicken head. P.S. Bonus points for giving Jake a tail. Bonus bonus points for making it stabby. Wait, hold the phone: Kathryn, did you sign Jake's ass??? I think you signed Jake's ass. I couldn't make a capital "E" in Microsoft Paint, let alone sign an ass. You might be a Paint ringer. I'll make no Paint bets with you.




Oh my god, Lori, Jake totally smokes! I am so in love with this, partly because it's soft porn (and who doesn't love soft porn), and partly because it could never happen. No, seriously. Let me explain: First of all, if the chicken had been sipping a glass of merlot as we're led here to believe, there would be wine all over the pillowcase. It's an "esophagal containment" issue. Plus, Jake would never have allowed the chicken's legs to stay all connected like that. He doesn't have that kind of self-control. Lori, what does "K S" stand for?? I'm dying! And how did you know that I only have one lamp in my bedroom? And that it's really ugly? You're good, my friend. Very good.




Jesus, Scott, this is kind of scaring me. Not the dead oozing chicken parts or the blood affirmation, but that it's so fucking accurate. I mean, that leg? That IS "the leg". And the "x" for the eye? Yeah, Jake ate the eye first thing. Nice job on the multi-textured blood... some airbrush, some paintbrush... very realistic. And while The Jake didn't grab anything in his fist I know that if he had, he would have done it just like that. Only with less knuckles.




First of all Michelle I need to apologize for all the little black dots on your valentine; I had to resave it as a GIF because it was THE BIGGEST FILE IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE and wouldn't upload otherwise, and for some reason we got all of these dots. I think it works though, because... flies. Nice job on finding a picture of an actual Aussie... it's too bad that Jake is the most fucked up looking specimen of the breed ever. The AKC people mandate that proper Aussies shouldn't have more than 10% "white space"; any more and the chances of blindness and deafness and legs falling off and general unattractiveness get exponentially better. Jake is about half white. Give or take. Maybe a little more. So thanks for reminding me that I need to get his vision, hearing and legs checked. A+ for no chicken eye... like your husband you recognize the chicken priority delicacies when you see them.




This is the Mystery Valentine, made all the more creepy because my dog (or something that looks remotely like my dog) isn't in it. Which is, frankly, the number one reason why I dig it. That, plus the fact that it's actually large enough to jack my entire template. Rock. Let's look at the positives:

1) Those talons! Are chicken feet generally referred to as "talons"? No matter. These are. Dig those nails. Damn.
2) Yoga Cat. Self-explanatory.
3) Stars.

Remind me sometime to tell you the story about when we pulled the cover off the ski boat one spring and found three kittens living inside the cabin and then took the boat to the lake twice and skied and then had the boat serviced and they pulled two more kittens out of the hull. Because that's a good story.

(DISCLAIMER: All the kittens were alive. But two were wetter than three. They all went to good, adoring homes where they can run and romp and ski and wakeboard to their tiny little damp hearts' content.)





Hannah, I like yours because I'm still trying to figure it out. If I had asked Picasso to do a Jake valentine, he would have said no. But if I had gotten him drunk first and then maybe had sex with him and afterward he had doodled a little one-handed something in lipliner on a coaster just to get me to shut the fuck up already, I bet it would have looked like this. And I've never seen a better beak in my whole life. I keep expecting it to say something wry.




Kim, there are a plethora of things I can say about this, but I have to go with the obvious first: are those testicles or boobies hanging from the chicken's neck? DRIVING. ME. CRAZY. I also like how the dog is so obviously transfixed by The Power Of The Chicken. If the chicken were alive it would be crazy not to get a restraining order. And Jake did ask me to cook the legs for him. I refused.




Joy, what can I say? The airbrush blood spots on what might be the World's Cutest Microsoft Paint Chicken is KILLING ME. Hey, you did this whole spread in airbrush, didn't you? You officially win the Airbrush Award... I should make you a tee shirt with some palm trees and the ocean on it with a big hot pink Joy across it. Or a license plate! Something.




Chris opted for the "rotating shadow puppet approach", which is fresh. And conveniently lacking in gore. The little rotating dog reminds me of a Clean Up After Your Dog sign I saw in Amsterdam, except that this dog silhouette isn't taking a shit. And I'm not high. Hey, what's that thing after the dog? A tumbleweed? Is it feathery dog throw up? I need answers. Can you teach me how to make a decapitated shadow chicken, Chris? I sure hope so. I'm tired of cheating.

I love you guys. Thanks for participating. Joy, your license plate is in the mail.

 
¶ posted by Erin on Sunday, April 25, 2004