Bin Chicken Quotes

You’re an escapee from the loony bin,” I said. “You’re the butt of every joke ever told. You might as well be the chicken that crossed the road.

Fuck off, bin chicken,” Jayden said and waved his hand at the bird.

The bin of flour was not used up, not did the jar of oil run dry, according to the word of the Lord, which He spoke to Elijah. 1 Kings 17:16 We

The McDonald brothers kept their potatoes—top quality Idaho spuds, about eight ounces apiece—piled in bins in their back warehouse building. Since rats and mice and other varmints like to eat potatoes, the walls of the bins were of two layers of small-mesh chicken wire. This kept the critters out and allowed fresh air to circulate among the potatoes. I watched the spuds being bagged up and followed their trip by four-wheeled cart to the octagonal drive-in building. There they were carefully peeled, leaving a tiny proportion of skin on, and then they were cut into long sections and dumped into large sinks of cold water. The french-fry man, with his sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, would plunge his arms into the floating schools of potatoes and gently stir them. I could see the water turning white with starch. This was drained off and the residual starch was rinsed from the glistening morsels with a flexible spray hose. Then the potatoes went into wire baskets, stacked in production-line fashion next to the deep-fry vats.

I detailed it all, and when I got to the point where they stored them in the shaded chicken-wire bins, he said, “That’s it!” He went on to explain that when potatoes are dug, they are mostly water. They improve in taste as they dry out and the sugars change to starch. The McDonald brothers had, without knowing it, a natural curing process in their open bins, which allowed the desert breeze to blow over the potatoes. With the help of the potato people, I devised a curing system of my own. I had the potatoes stored in the basement so the older ones would always be next in line for the kitchen. I also put a big electric fan down there and gave the spuds a continuous blast of air, which greatly amused Ed MacLuckie. “We have the world’s most pampered potatoes,” he said. “I almost feel guilty about cooking them.

People who won’t fight should at least scream and scold to avert problems that might ignite a fight. Truth is, if you present yourself as dust bin, people will load insults and nonsense inside. A sleeping dog can be slapped by a bold chicken.