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Alla God's Chilluns love crust. Were I you (and I'm not, but I dare to presume), and dead-set on a triple-thick crust and the deep fryer, I'd bone and skin my thighs and breasts before deep-frying. Boning breasts and thighs is easy, and you've solved all the problems of rubbery skin and done-to-the-bone meat with two quick slices of the knife, plus added more fodder to your freezer-bag of stock-parts. Drumsticks take a bit more time and finesse to bone, but it can be done with practice (it's easiest if you leave the leg and thigh joined together while boning). Wings aren't worth it--but if you break them down into two pieces they cook quickly enough anyway. Including, usually, the skin.
The best fried chicken I've ever had that I didn't cook myself came from a pair of young barred-rock roosters my grandmother killed in her backyard on a Saturday morning in the 1950s and cooked on Sunday for my 10th birthday, in the same Griswold skillet I fry mine in today. Then as now, the sublime thing about the chicken (other than getting to help pluck and covering myself with blood and feathers like some refuge from Lord of the Flies) was the way the flour-and-milk crust and the chicken skin melded into one uniformly crispy entity. As my grandmother would say, if you laid a piece of it on your head, your tongue would slap your brains out trying to get it off.
