Why? Why, why, why?

So I was at a friend's blog this morning and I read how she made this amazing roasted chicken so I thought I'd check it out and since it came rated so highly, put it on the menu for next week. All was good until I got to this:

But I take the chicken butt for myself. I could never understand why my brothers always fought over that triangular tip—until one day I got the crispy, juicy fat myself. These are the cook's rewards.

Why? Why, why, why? I was alllll in 'til the "chicken butt....crispy, juicy fat". Am I the only person that doesn't find this even remotely appetizing? In fact, I'm down right repulsed by it. Why can't Zebra cakes repulse me? Or how 'bout those Espresso Brownies. Why can't I want to rebate those while thinking of them?

This sentence almost fixes it for me...almost, "Slather the meat with fresh butter. Serve with mustard on the side and, if you wish, a simple green salad." Anything w/butter is better. Maybe I'll still try it.