Pork rules.

My neighbor.
He is an old man who works for his church.
His church donates food to a food drive, so in return when they are overstocked, the food drive people give him free bread and sometimes other morsels.

He always has a table full of breads, and loaves, and cakes, and donuts outside on his patio.

The other day I was out there poking around, eyeing a box of croissants when he comes out and says, “Do you want some chicken?”

I had never spoken to this man before now.
All I knew was he had a sign that said 'free bread' and I like bread.

Now, imagine my expression for a moment.

“Chicken?” I repeat.
“Yes, chicken. I have 45 pounds of the stuff and I can’t possibly eat it all.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I can use some chicken.”
“Ok, I’ll put 20 pounds in a box for you.”
“Ha-ha WAIT, 20 pounds! Man, that’s way too much chicken!”
“You’re telling me. I don’t even like chicken.”
“You don’t like chicken? Then what is it you like?”

and here comes the best line I’ve ever heard:

“I like pork. Pork rules.”

Old people are funny.
And so is the box of 50 chicken breasts I am stuck with now.