I am at my breaking point. It’s getting so that I can’t go anywhere without seeing people that are trying to steal my identity, pretending to be me. Impostors, impersonators, fakes like stolen valor of sorts.

Just last weekend, I was at the park with Mrs. Chicken along with my nieces and nephews, Slomo, Sluggo, Beula and Poindexter. I was cutting up some pork short-ribs to put on the portable grill. I look up and what do I see? This guy in a chicken suit claiming to be me, Chainsaw Chicken.

He kept clucking and running from one picnic spot to another shouting “I’m Chainsaw Chicken”.

I grabbed my cleaver and started chasing him!

“You S.O.B.! You better hope that I don’t catch you”, I shouted.

He laughed and kept running, climbing into his beat-up 63 Mercury comet and taking off.

Frustrating. It’s so damn annoying. As Tom Horn once said to a wannabe gunslinger, “You’d have to stand on your grandmother’s shoulders just to be able to kiss my butt”.