Fried chicken lovers: Can I get a witness?

By Brian Whitmore
I’m not sure you can be an American and not like chicken. I’m not sure you can be southern and not like Fried Chicken.
Simmer down vegetarians.
Last Wednesday, I drove to Swainsboro, Ga., to work on The Chronicle’s budget for next fiscal year.
Truth is there is not much between Clinton and Swainsboro, traveling down Hwy. 221.

VIC Column: A Dad’s Pride


I’m so proud of my daughter I can hardly stand it.

Our third born, Mary Elizabeth MacDonald, stopped the other day to treat the wounds of a person injured in a car wreck. It was on Hwy 76 near Metal Masters, and she was the first first-responder on the scene. I am getting this word second-hand, as I wasn’t there, but it comes from a very reliable source.

CORNER: Textile dermatitis, it is real


I was sitting on the couch one day last week reading a book by Carl Hiassen when the woman I live with walked into the room. I stopped reading to look at her. I always do.

It was early, so she was still in her PJs. I noticed she was wearing the t-shirt inside out. As I slowly scanned my way down, I noticed the pajama bottoms she was wearing was also turned inside out. That’s new, I thought to myself.


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