Snoufhouks Abound!

This is a blood sweat and tears knee-jerk response to the Plebians:
Plebs (its ok if I call you by your first name, right?) Let me tell you a little story about when I was a wee young lad on the river banks of the upper Ugandish. I sat their merrily carptailing through the afternoon, frittering and frolicking with the elder Junderbourg (with umlaats!) as he repeatedly treated the local berries with scorn, a local walked up to me and said "Pushtkil cram vindgaart en desu el Quevaerbab." Which, in my native tongue, means "He who stokes the fire breaks the cows beak in winter."

As any rational person would expect, I said 'wooooooo'.

This is merely a beginning, Plebsy. From their, I learned the inherent value of a chicken is that it is
a) easily killed.
b) tasty.
c) useful in Vodun rituals.

With this startling revelation, I played pied piper and lured the villages chickens into the river, killing them. The village then starved, while I ate raw, feathered, waterlogged chicken to my heart content. Occasionally killing other small animals with their bones. It was fantastic. After everyone starved, I had a fantastic tea and rice candy party, and boy was I the popular one!