Extraordinary Cannibal Chickens

19 12 2008

Things had been surprisingly quiet around here since a certain brown paper package arrived in the mail last month.  Seeing how the cannibal chickens took a major hit in their 401k of late, they seemed to be taking it far too well.  Except for the dark bags and circles around their cocks combs, they seemed about as content and at peace as any chicken who eats chicken can hope to be or should expect. 

What was the secret behind the gentle satisfaction that had crept into their clucks?  What was in that paper package, and could I have some?

One thing I’d learned about living with cannibals, even just chicken cannibals: It doesn’t pay to be direct.  They are such pathological liers, it’s almost impossible to even have a conversation with one! At least the ones here, the ones I call “mine.”  I learned a long time ago not to try to draw out a lot of personal details from these birds.  So that’s why on Tuesday, when they were out shaking down the local KFC like they do every Tuesday, I simply went into their room and looked around. 

It was the usual mess: straw, peanut shells, chicken baseball trading cards and old spent confetti poppers strewn around.    As I crossed the room, I spotted something shiny sticking out from behind the nests.  It was a book with a real nice looking chicken on the cover and the title was Extraordinary Chickens

What a beautiful book of truly extraordinary chickens it was!  I could easily imagine the boys pouring themselves over the full-color pages of the healthiest, cockiest chickens ever gathered on shiny white paper.  And now as I looked at the beautiful and extremely well-groomed chickens on these here pages, I realized that I had started to feel a little better and my own ruined 401k ever so slightly loosened its dagger grip around my heart.

Extraordinary Chickens.  They can’t cure chicken cannibalism, but maybe they can begin to mend the broken bank of the soul.




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