Eukiddenme
(400 B.C.E. - 325 B.C.E.)
from Greece
(A little-known Platonic dialogue known
only from fragments of documents from the
archives of KFC)


Socrates and Eukiddenme

Socrates: Good morrow, my friend. Whither goest?
Eukiddenme: I hunger. My essential material being yearns for a chicken patty sandwich.
Socrates: Ah, my good man! Before you digest it into your body, think, what is the essence of chicken?
Eukiddenme: It is an object composed mainly of chicken atoms. It is that which is beloved of Col. Sanders.
Socrates: Consider, however. Mrs. Sanders is also beloved of Col. Sanders. Is Mrs. Sanders then a chicken?
Eukiddenme: Ah, Socrates, you have me there. She is surely not an old hen. Actually she's quite a looker. I must then define chicken as that which may be dipped in barbeque or honey mustard sauce.
Socrates: I must demur, my dear Eukiddenme. Even I have been known, on occasion, to dip my fries in the sauce. Are then fries to be known as chicken?
Eukiddenme: Dear no! Fries are mainly of spud atoms from Idaho. I must then alter my definition to that which struts around on two webbed feet.
Socrates: Do not get personal, my friend. My wife struts in such a manner, but is no chicken. She strikes fear into even my heart. Have you no truth as to the harmonious, mathematical essence of chicken?
Eukiddenme: Ah, it comes to me! Chicken is that which is fried or baked.
Socrates: Your brain on drugs is also fried or baked. Is your rational part composed of chicken?
Eukiddenme: No, but you have made minced ham of my brain. I shall give it one more try. Chicken is that which has large white breasts, little chicken legs, and clucks.
Socrates: I should not touch that one with a new toga, but, for your friendship, I shall. Consider Dolly Parton. Is she then, a chicken?
Eukiddenme: A reasonable point. My very last attempt is this: chicken is that which makes megabucks for Col. Sanders.
Socrates: Think of where we began. We have returned there. Chicken is that which is beloved of Col. Sanders. Is there nothing new to be said?
Eukiddenme: Fare thee well, my Socrates. I have lost my desire for chicken. I now desire ham.
Socrates: Ah, what is the essence of a pig?
Eukiddenme: Oops! I must run!! Farewell, Socrates.