It's That Secret Recipe

I opened my mailbox the other day to find something that...bothered me. Slightly. It was a Kentucky Fried Chicken ad.

There was nothing special about the ad itself; it was a booklet of coupons I'll probably never use. So what bothered me? The addressee.

It was addressed to "Chicken Lover".

It did not say "Eric Trickster". "Trickster Studios". Even "Resident" would have been less offensive. But...chicken lover?

Never mind the sexual connotations there. I'll pretend I'm not afraid there's a website of deviants who are into chicken love, and that I've somehow ended up on this. It would go a long way towards explaining those strange looks I get from the neighbors from time to time.

But..."chicken lover" implies that they know I like chicken. No; LOVE chicken! Whether I actually love chicken or not is now irrelevant, because there it is in bold type. Chicken Lover. There's a mailing list someplace that, instead of my name, has me listed as Chicken Lover. Can you hear the marketing telephone call?

"Hello, is Mr. Lover home?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Chicken Lover, is he home?"

Oh, the inhumanity!