“Tell me about your days with Borat, and the infamous stunt you two pulled off on national television that led to your uprise in popularity and simultaneous downward spiral,” the reporter asked from the other side of the electric wire.

Chicken looked at him with her face profiled to the right, staring with one eye. This, of course, is due to the shape of her head—not to be confused with ill feelings or animosity. Actually, she was in a sharing mood. She spoke fluently, without many pauses or clucks, a breath of fresh air compared to her past withholdings when dealing with the media.

”...I used Borat to propel myself back into the public’s collective conscience, and to pick-up the expenses for the destruction I left in the wake of my escape.”

The reporter asks, “Now that you’re back on the farm pecking at random tid bits, scratching the sweet earth with your tri-pod claws, and loving life, do you aspire to cross the road again?”

“Well, Buck- kaw! I may go halfway and lay it on the line.”