Full Credits

Stats & Data

9Funny
0Die
148
Views
February 22, 2017
Published
Description

Chick-fil-a is not only evil, but it is controlled by Lizards who want to steal your woman and eat your brain in a five star restaurant.

Chick-fil-a Ads are Subliminal Messages for Our Own Slaughter

Screen Shot 2017-02-22 at 3.39.13 PM.png

As we know, Chick-fil-a, or as my dad calls it Chick-a-files, has not had the best reputation for cultural acceptance, especially centered around the LGBTQ communities. But what we don’t know is that there are four billionaires, of whom are also Reptilians, that create Chick-fil-a ads to turn minorities against each other. These billionaires are Ronald McDonald, Newt Gingrich (actual newt), Esmeralda from Hunchback of Notre Dame and, to everyone surprise, Jafar. We thought he was stuck in a lamp, but guess what? He’s back.

We see in the Chick-fil-a ads a disturbingly realistic cow, painting with two, or sometimes even three, cow friends, trying their best to persuade humans to choose chickens for the slaughter instead of cows. Sure, we laugh; we laugh at the misspelling of those dumb cows and their desperate attempt for survival when we all know we will be slaughtering chickens and cows alike with our mouths watering.

The Reptilians, disguised as white men, do the same thing within the media. Gang violence, intersectional racism and the fact that it is much easier for a wealthy lizard to rule while the minorities are preoccupied fighting over territories and minimum wage jobs, are perfect distractions for domination. As a human race, we have raised animals to be considered lesser beings than us. We train them to be obsessed with us; we kill them, wear them, dress them up and make them dance. Now, we laugh at their scramble for survival while throwing each other into the meat grinders.

In conclusion, I want to live in a world where we are free range, grade A beef, wandering aimlessly through the rolling hills of technicolor romance. That is until, of course, we are all equally taken, inevitably, to our blissful slaughter.

Balloons,
Malie Mason

Advertisement