There was this Blonde.
She was instructed by her husband, "Cook the chicken!"
Well, the chicken was different than any she had made before. It had been marinaded in barbecue and brown sugar and packaged in individual wrap without precise instruction on the package.
"How shall I cook it?" she asked.
"In the oven... or on the stove," the fine husband said.
She carefully read the directions. It didn't really matter how she cooked it, as long as the temperature on the inside of the chicken was 165 degrees when done.
"I can do this!" Blonde said as she pulled out her brand new virgin meat thermometer from the drawer.
~Fast forward, one hour~
A half a dozen pieces of blackened chicken sizzle in the frying pan, mutilated... death by stabbing....
Blonde stands over her meal looking distraught. Husband walks into the kitchen.
"I don't understand it." Blonde says. "This chicken has been cooking for over an hour and still the temperature is only 95 degrees on the inside."
Husband takes meat thermometer from wife's hand and removes the cover. "Now try it."
After catching his breath and between laughs, Gary managed to get 2 words out... "That's rich!"
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