HELP ME. HELP ME. HELP ME. HELP MY CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD.

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Hi. My name is Amber Garibay and if you have yet to know of me I will tell you that I am a woman who is going places.
Where am I going???
I don’t know…
Places. I am going places. That’s all you really need to know unless you plan to come with me. Do you plan to come with me on my crazy adventures because you can. I am leaving yesterday. I am funding my trip with a credit card I got in Greece. Just kidding. I have never been to Greece and they do not have any real money. Do you know that or did you jump back into the news after the bail out made everything look pretty again. #don‘tbetrumped
Speaking of pretty, don’t call me that. Unless of course you mean to call me pretty average. I am a pretty average American girl. I was born in Nebraska where I was corn fed cattle. This just means that I ate steak and corn both at the same time, and nearly at every meal. Of course there were potatoes too. I liked to have my meal swimming in butter before I dashed it with salt. Then afterwords I felt so guilty that I made all the potatoes that I hadn’t eaten wear disguises. They looked so cute with their little clown faces that I even gave them names. I call them Mr. and Mrs. Potato head. They want me to be more healthy so they introduced me to Mrs. Dash. She told me to give up the salt, but I am still a slave to Mrs. Butter for what it’s worth.
Now you can clearly see that my flow is a mess and if you are not quick you already missed the biscuit and why is this my fault? People keep asking me about the chicken when the whole thing is and always has been good finger licking fun and isn’t it obvious as to why I would have a chicken at a crossroad?
The chicken crossed the road to get to the other side. Can you help me get to that track? The one where life is beautiful and people smile back at me when I am smiling at them?

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