https://www.facebook.com/115483568104185/

CHKN DRUM, New Orleans, LA (2026)

08/15/2026

TONIGHT @ SANTOS 🐤

03/31/2026

Day 519 — 23 days have passed since I last talked about this… and instead of slowing down like a reasonable human being, I accelerated. I didn’t even know that was possible?!! I’ve entered a new phase. A darker phase. A greasier phase. At this point, I don’t even order it anymore. It just… shows up.

I’ll hear a knock at the door. I didn’t order anything. I didn’t even open an app. But there it is. A warm box. Waiting. Like the universe itself is enabling me.

I asked the delivery guy once, “Who paid for this?” He just looked at me and said, “You know who.”

I don’t. I really don’t.

Today has changed me. I’ve stopped pretending this is a streak. This is now a lifestyle with consequences. My body makes noises it shouldn’t make. Not pain—just… crunch-adjacent sounds when I move too fast. I stretched this morning and my knee popped like crispy skin and I had to sit down and reflect. Also, I think people can smell it on me permanently now.

Not in a bad way… but in a concerningly consistent way.

A girl hugged me yesterday and paused mid-embrace. “…why do you smell like that?” —I said nothing. Because how do you explain 519 days of fried chicken without sounding like you’ve lost custody of reality?

The worst part is, I tried to take a break.I really did.
Yesterday I said, “Alright, let’s eat something clean today.” I bought a salad. A full, responsible, adult salad. Sat down. Took one bite.

And I swear to you… my body f**king rejected it like a bad organ transplant. I just stared at it like, “What is this? Where is the crunch? Where is the purpose?”. Five minutes later I was eating fried chicken again like I had just relapsed after a 30-second recovery journey.

At this point, I’m starting to think Day 500 did something to me. Like I crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to cross. A threshold. A gateway.

So now? Shiiii Uhhh now I don’t crave fried chicken…
fried chicken craves me. Keep a lookout for 4/17 🍗

03/08/2026

It’s Sunday. Day 496 of fried chicken.

Most people wake up on Sundays and go to church, drink coffee, maybe call their parents. I woke up thinking about fried chicken before my eyes even fully opened. Not casually either—like a full mental IMAX preview of the crunch.

Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. Reflection. Peace.

Meanwhile I’m standing in my kitchen staring at a box of fried chicken like it contains ancient wisdom. Other people read scripture on Sundays. I’m studying crispy skin patterns.

my ahhh body doesn’t even question it anymore. My stumpy just clocks in like, “Alright boys, shipment’s here.”

The weird part is my senses are changing. I swear I can smell fried chicken from blocks away now. I walked outside earlier and my head slowly turned like a shark that just smelled blood.

My food delivery apps don’t even pretend to recommend other food anymore either. The algorithm just wakes up and says, “Yeah… we know what this guy wants.”

Anyway. It’s Sunday…Some people are finding God today. Not me im looking for dem fried chicken finger lickin good bayyybeee

03/07/2026

Day 496….sorry i haven’t posted in awhile but just hear me out. Four hundred and ninety-six days of waking up and immediately thinking about fried chicken before my feet even hit the floor. At this point the obsession isn’t even a habit anymore—it’s more like a lifestyle choice that slowly evolved into a personality trait, then quietly became a medical mystery.

This morning I woke up and stared at the ceiling for a moment, just reflecting. Not about life goals. Not about personal growth. Just thinking about fried chicken. Somewhere in the distance a deep fryer probably turned on and my brain reacted the way wolves react to a full moon.

Day 496 means my body has fully adapted. My stomach doesn’t even ask questions anymore. It just clocks in like a factory worker when fried chicken shows up. Efficient. Professional. No paperwork.

My kitchen smells like a long-term relationship with fried chicken. Not the fresh smell either—more like the kind of scent that has soaked into the walls, the furniture, possibly the spiritual fabric of the apartment. If historians ever excavate this place they won’t find artifacts. They’ll just smell fried chicken and write papers about it.

At some point around day 300 I stopped pretending I might slow down. That ship sailed, hit a bucket of grease, and slid straight into a pile of drumsticks. Now when people ask what I’ve been eating lately, I don’t even answer with words. I just give them a look. They already know.

Physically, I’m starting to suspect changes.

My reflexes are faster when food arrives in a cardboard box. My nose can detect fried chicken from distances that frankly feel supernatural. If there’s a batch cooking within a two-block radius, I’ll know. My head will slowly turn like a shark that just smelled blood.

But the weirdest part today is the calm.

I’m no longer fighting it. I’ve accepted my role in the universe. Some people meditate. Some people run marathons. Some people study philosophy.

And then there’s me… quietly continuing a 496-day streak involving fried chicken, wondering if day 500 is when my final form unlocks.

At that point I probably won’t even order it anymore.

It’ll just… find me. 🍗

03/06/2026

Day 496….sorry i haven’t posted in awhile but just hear me out. Four hundred and ninety-six days of waking up and immediately thinking about fried chicken before my feet even hit the floor. At this point the obsession isn’t even a habit anymore—it’s more like a lifestyle choice that slowly evolved into a personality trait, then quietly became a medical mystery.

This morning I woke up and stared at the ceiling for a moment, just reflecting. Not about life goals. Not about personal growth. Just thinking about fried chicken. Somewhere in the distance a deep fryer probably turned on and my brain reacted the way wolves react to a full moon.

Day 496 means my body has fully adapted. My stomach doesn’t even ask questions anymore. It just clocks in like a factory worker when fried chicken shows up. Efficient. Professional. No paperwork.

My kitchen smells like a long-term relationship with fried chicken. Not the fresh smell either—more like the kind of scent that has soaked into the walls, the furniture, possibly the spiritual fabric of the apartment. If historians ever excavate this place they won’t find artifacts. They’ll just smell fried chicken and write papers about it.

At some point around day 300 I stopped pretending I might slow down. That ship sailed, hit a bucket of grease, and slid straight into a pile of drumsticks. Now when people ask what I’ve been eating lately, I don’t even answer with words. I just give them a look. They already know.

Physically, I’m starting to suspect changes.

My reflexes are faster when food arrives in a cardboard box. My nose can detect fried chicken from distances that frankly feel supernatural. If there’s a batch cooking within a two-block radius, I’ll know. My head will slowly turn like a shark that just smelled blood.

But the weirdest part of day 496 is the calm.

I’m no longer fighting it. I’ve accepted my role in the universe. Some people meditate. Some people run marathons. Some people study philosophy.

And then there’s me… quietly continuing a 496-day streak involving fried chicken, wondering if day 500 is when my final form unlocks.

At that point I probably won’t even order it anymore.

It’ll just… find me. 🍗

01/24/2026

Hold the green button. Do it.

CHKN DRUM

08/15/2026

03/31/2026

03/08/2026

03/07/2026

03/06/2026

01/24/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Establishment

Shortcuts

Share

Category

Listing takedown request