In a world where serious issues like climate change, political strife, pandemics, looming economic collapse and AI-fueled employment woes for recent college grads capture headlines daily, let’s take a moment to consider a question of little weight or importance: Would you rather have to fight a chicken every time you get in your car or fight a gorilla once a year (with a sword)?
First, we need to set some ground rules.
If you choose the chicken:
- “Your car” means any car your family owns
- It spawns in a random spot the moment you close the door
If you choose the gorilla:
- It’s the same as your gender
- You will be notified in advance of the date and arena, which never changes, and you will be teleported there when the day comes
And for both:
- Neither choice allows you additional weapons or protective gear (besides the sword)
- Both animals will be aggravated and attack you immediately
- The fight only ends when you or the animal dies
- No loopholes exist!
Given these two no-win scenarios options, we made different choices. Shirina would rather die early than face the severe inconvenience of being pecked multiple times a day, so she chose the yearly battle against the gorilla. Contrastingly, Amy would rather deal with annoying chickens constantly than face yearly life-or-death encounters that would haunt her every waking (and sleeping) moment.
Team Gorilla (Shirina):
Opting for the gift of peace for a year instead of fighting multiple chickens a day, I choose to fight the gorilla. I know what you’re thinking, do I have a death wish? Maybe I do, but if you think about it, I have the entire year to prepare for a big fight — even one against a formidable foe — I could (probably) win.
I get into my car an average of six times a day, not even counting my parents’ cars. Considering I already don’t have enough hours in the day, I do not need to waste more time fighting six chickens daily.
We’ve all had those days, running late to school. It happens to me more often than not. In the middle of ushering my brother out the door and putting my shoes on in the car, if I had a chicken spawn and try to attack me, I would actually crash out.
Sure, I could find another option, like biking, but the reason I love driving myself is that I get the comfort of my own space, even if it’s just for a moment. I get privacy to do what I want, talk about what I want and go anywhere whenever I choose. Driving alone with the windows down and the music blasting is my own form of therapy. I don’t need a chicken bak-bakking and ruining my oasis.
If I do manage to kill the chicken with my bare hands, a chicken carcass in the car would be terrible to deal with. At that point, none of your friends would want to get a ride with you.
Nor are chickens as docile as you may think. In the small confines of my car and car seat, I’d definitely be pecked and scratched before I could get a good grip on the chicken. Chicken owners can attest that they’re difficult to catch. Given this chicken is aggressive and will attack me on sight, chances are that I will suffer deep wounds.
In addition, there are documented cases of humans being killed by aggressive chickens. A man named Jasper Kraus, 67, was mauled by a Brahma hen in 2022, suffering fatal puncture wounds and blood loss from the chicken’s spurs. Kraus was an expert chicken handler, and the breed was supposed to be docile.
If I end up losing as much blood as Kraus, I might not die, because I thankfully have a young and healthy body, but my seats would definitely be drenched in blood. If I’m already struggling to be on time at school every day, how would I have time to clean them? (Just imagine the stink!)
I can’t immediately leave my car either, as I always carry a ginormous bag with me, and the small gap in between my car and the car in the next parking spot forces me to twist and maneuver my body in order to get out. By then, the chicken’s already given me bird flu.
A Louisiana resident died in January 2025 from H5N1 bird flu, with the virus possibly mutating in the patient after exposure to infected backyard chickens. You can still die when choosing the chicken option, and it’s just much lamer!
Also, I’ve always wanted to learn how to wield a cool weapon — throwing knives, shooting arrows or sure, wielding a sword. After consulting the internet, I have found some sword options. A glaive, or a pole-sword, is basically a long spear. As long as I hit a vital point in the gorilla, this long sword allows me to live longer by attacking while maintaining a distance. Plus, I’ve always needed a push to work out my arms. If I’m still alive after the fight, I’ll let you feel my biceps.
A female gorilla weighs 200 lbs and stands 4 feet 6 inches tall on average. The stats aren’t bad. I’m an adrenaline junkie, so I enjoy exhilarating and sometimes dangerous activities, as long as they don’t involve free falling.
For my year before the big fight, part of my training could include working with gorilla zookeepers and learning gorilla anatomy and psychology. I like to think that I’m quick on my feet. If the gorilla charges straight at me, I could stab straight at the heart or lung to defeat it in one swing. Or maybe there’s some zookeeping technique that can calm the gorilla down enough for me to get a clear shot.
I’ve never tried fighting a gorilla with a sword before, but as long as I win once, I will gain valuable experience that will help me in future battles, and I get another year to prepare.
A fight with a gorilla would be an insane experience, one that I would take over a chicken any day. And in case I do lose the fight, at least I know the date in advance, so my friends and family wouldn’t lose me unexpectedly. Don’t lie — if I did win, you’d think I’m pretty cool, right?
Team Chicken (Amy):
Choosing to fight chickens is just basic survival. With a gorilla, you’re practically guaranteed to die or end up with lifelong injuries. They are insanely strong and smart — far stronger than humans — and even if you had a sword, you make one slip-up and you’re done. Realistically, I wouldn’t survive a gorilla fight, even with sword training.
Even if, by some miracle, I turn out to be a gorilla-sword-fighting prodigy, I’m bound to make a mistake one of these years that would leave me seriously injured, if not dead. Then, I will spend months in agony, recovering from the battle. All the while, the U.S. healthcare system would be emptying my pockets.
The following year, I’d be weaker and more vulnerable, and it’s just downhill from there. Plus, I could accidentally stab myself. (Fun fact: Many stabbing-related true crime cases trace injuries back to the attacker cutting themselves when their knife slipped.)
Meanwhile, chickens are annoying, yes, but they’re predictable. At worst I get scratches or a peck. That’s a bad afternoon, not a life sentence.
And it’s not just strength I’m worried about. Because gorillas are so genetically similar to humans, we are much more susceptible to their diseases. Even a minor bite, scratch or blood exposure could transmit a serious pathogen — viruses like Ebola, or other zoonotic diseases that humans have little natural defense against.
Chickens, by contrast, are far safer. Most bird diseases don’t transmit to humans at all, and while salmonella is a risk, it’s easily managed with proper hygiene. The risk of a fatal infection from a chicken attack is essentially zero. Using one fatal case of a chicken attack as the basis of the danger of chickens is like saying elevators are unsafe because one person’s hair got caught and they died. It ignores the millions of safe instances and doesn’t reflect the true risk.
And think about training. Fighting chickens every day would turn me into a master. They’re not particularly smart, but studies show they actually have decent spatial memory and can anticipate simple patterns, which means I could quickly learn their behavior.
Gorillas? You can’t train for that. There’s no “How to Swordfight a Gorilla tutorial” on YouTube (for good reason). Even if I perfect my sword techniques, I can never get practical experience with a gorilla besides one fight a year. I will have no idea what I’m walking into the first time, and how they will respond to my moves. Additionally, the second I’m face-to-face with an angry 200-pound ape, I would go into shock, forget everything I’ve learned and it would be over before I knew it.
The mental side is another big difference. Even if the gorilla fight is just once a year, the thought of the coming fight would hang over me constantly, causing year-round dread. I would never get a moment’s peace. And surviving that fight? The guilt, the trauma, the nightmares — I don’t think I could ever mentally recover.
Chickens, on the other hand, aren’t terrifying. They’re annoying and will leave a feathery mess in my car, but eventually, it’ll just become routine. They’re also free dinner, which in this economy, is a huge plus — especially after Costco almost doubled the price for their rotisserie chicken. They can even be my stress relief. Bad day? Take it out on the chicken. And if I need backup, my cat’s got me. He’s already caught several birds and lizards — chickens wouldn’t stand a chance.
And here’s the thing: I actually have options with the chicken side. Don’t feel like fighting one day? Carpool or don’t drive. Going somewhere with friends? They can help me fight. Feeling sick? Let someone else drive and fight the chicken for you. The gorilla doesn’t give you days off. No opt-out, no helpers, no do-overs. It’s fight or die.
So really, the choice is obvious: Team Chicken means a daily nuisance, but predictable, survivable and occasionally tasty. Team Gorilla means lifelong trauma, mountains of medical debt and almost certain death.
I’ll take chickens any day.
When the Falcon staff was asked to choose, they voted 28:16 in favor of Team Chicken.
What would you choose?
