Sacrilege, maybe, but when I walk into a Popeye’s I don’t order chicken, I order chicken strips. With barbecue sauce. It’s the only way to fly. They’re usually good enough for you to ignore all the trifling shit that’s happening in the Popeye’s while you’re eating there. Like the dude who’s just there for the free internet and camped out with his laptop for probably the whole day and only ordered a soda and a biscuit. Anyway, the strips are alright.