By Mark David Blum, Esq.
Of all the cities in the land of the dollar bill, leave it to Chicago to reinvent and bring back the bad old days. The home of Al Capone seems to have once again made saving lives the role of its police powers.
This time, instead of prohibiting alcohol, the Chicago City Counsel first banned Fois Gras from its’ restaurant menus. Then, they announced their intention to ban chickens from the City. Today, the Chicago City Counsel did a complete reversal and ended liver prohibition.
Yes, waging war against chickens and those who desire free range eggs and saving and ducks and geese from the pain of having their fattened livers ground up into finger food for the democratic elite had become social battle #1. Apparently, Chicagoans are refocusing their energies to more important issues of homelessness, hunger, jobs, and a world class educational system and infrastructure.
Prohibition was probably ended, however, because there are connoisseurs like me who will still always managed to find and enjoy a dab of pate’. It used to be that if I ever find myself in Chicago, would have to bribe hotel concierges for a lead to the nearest “quack-easy”. Once, I had to be very careful to avoid drive-bys by rival catering companies. Now, I am free to choose without worry of being shot.
Did the chickens make a run at the Sears Towers and bring them to a clucking end?
Chicago news no longer carried tales of Columbian Drug Lords and Middle Eastern Terrorists. Too much of their time was dominated by tales of blood shed by the new ‘Iron Chef’. A battle still rages in the streets as to who now will be the Top Chef.
How safe and how watered down with other mixtures was a schmeer of formerly black market” loose liver? I always wondered if the City provided a chance for rehab and a switch over to a ‘brie’ lifestyle to avoid a lengthy prison sentence?
Things that 'taste like chicken' are finally no longer regulated. Anybody who ate too much fowl created probable cause. 'Canard Lines' took on a whole new meaning.
I could go on.
In fact, I will.
Travelers to Chicago needed to be warned that should they be so tempted, any hors devourers they come across may not be the real thing. Can you tell me if your fois gras is dog liver or perhaps, kitty liver? Or, worse still, had you managed to find the real thing; will you wonder how and in whose intestines the ground up liver was smuggled?
Thankfully prohibition ended because I began also to worry about the children of Chicago who may get caught in the crossfire. Neighborhoods once quiet and serene were rife with danger. Were there strolling herds of chickens clucking their way and flashing their colors? How many Chicagoans died in the cross feathers?
Butchers moved in next door to the crack houses. Neighborhood children found themselves stepping over the carcasses of de-livered fowl. Blood ran thick everywhere. Playgrounds were littered with the remnants of Ritz and Stone Ground crackers. Every off ramp to the Gold Coast had a hooded young teen souse chef standing there offering grams for sale so the affluent can party over the weekend.
The City struggled to name a Chicken and Liver Zar; someone with the stones to face down even the sharpest of ginzu knives and honed beaks. Taxpayers could not afford the trained army to infiltrate and eradicate any distributors of the evil pink junk. More prisons were scheduled to be built, more cops were be hired, and in the end, only the user suffered. Feathers were flying.
Thankfully, I no longer worry about my dear friends who live in the meatpacking capital of the world. They finally figured out how to remove their sausage and hamburger filled heads out of their pizza sized butts.
Fortunately, the lily-livered City Council who chickened out to the goose stepping forces of political correctness saw the light. Clearly opting to protect cherished American freedom and soaring with the eagles, the City of Chicago who once laid yet another turkey at the feet of the American public, has cleaned the plate and is ready for seconds.
