Crunchy Chicken

Inspector: Then we have number four. Number four: Crunchy chicken.
Mr. Hilton: Yes.
Inspector: Am I right in thinking there's a real chicken in 'ere?
Mr. Hilton: Yes, a little one.
Inspector: What sort of chicken?
Mr. Hilton: A...a *dead* chicken.
Inspector: Is it cooked?
Mr. Hilton: No.
Inspector: What, a RAW chicken?!?
Mr. Hilton: Oh, we use only the finest baby chickens, dew-picked and flown from Iraq, cleansed in the finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and sealed in a succulent, Swiss, quintuple-smooth, treble-milk chocolate envelope, and lovingly frosted with glucose.
Inspector: That's as may be, but it's still a chicken!
Mr. Hilton: What else?
Inspector: Well, don't you even take the bones out?
Mr. Hilton: If we took the bones out, it wouldn't be crunchy, would it?
Inspector: Constable Clitoris et one of those!! We have to protect the public!
Constable: Uh, would you excuse me a moment, Sir? (exits)

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