This came out of a conversation with a family member about restaurants and how they all have SO MANY menu options now. We were remembering restaurants from long ago that served, basically, one thing. Maybe a variant or two on that thing.
My first thought was a “feeling down” joke that might have been inappropriate. I like this one better. And since Flatfoot’s girlfriend is a chicken, that kind of ruined the first joke, anyway.
I’m sure this legend still exists in some quarters. I remember being told it as fact when I was a child and being afraid for my cousin who picked up a dead armadillo.
