Chickening Out

Max writes:

OK, so following your post today (Low Bro), are we to understand that you’re now eating chicken?

Just so there’s no confusion leading to mass hysteria, let me make it clear that I am not eating chicken. Indeed, as I told Max in a reply email:

[N]o, no, no, no way am I eating chicken! The stuff is fake fake fake. In fact, I even linked to the Veat site, which is what the “herb roasted chicken” was. Veat is soy protein.

Indeed, when I first composed (you write, I compose) the entry, I did include (parenthetically) that the “chicken” was fake chicken. Then, in a fit of “Oh god please, that should be apparent”-ness, I decided to just let the word “chicken” fly on its own. Then Max had to come along and squawk about the poultry possibilities, and now I’m all, like, het up and worried that everyone thinks I’m eatin’ chicken.
It’s a good thing I actually like Max, because if I didn’t, I’d have to hate him.
So, just for the record (because I know you’re keeping one, like a pie-chart or bar graph or little card like from miniature golf [complete with brightly-colored miniature eraserless pencil]), the answer is NO. No chicken has passed through my beak since, oh, I’d say 1990. And in case your need for record-keeping is even more obsessive, please note that no meat has made its way inside me since 1979.
And yes, boys, this is where you nudge each other and wink at me for the “meat” reference.
And yes, I phrased it the way I did on purpose. Because I’m saucy.
So, in conclusion: No. No chicken. And also: I don’t want your meat.