Today, in chicken news:
This morning the puppy stole Mephistopheles out of my purse while I was making a highly necessary slurpee and hot tamale stop at the local gas station. I didn’t notice he was gone until after we got home from playing at the lake for three hours. I immediately went into crisis mode. I was afraid to call anyone else in the O4 (Original Four, we’re like OG’s in abbreviation only — you couldn’t actually be much less gangsta than the four of us unless your name was Tipper Gore) because it would look pretty bad for the founder of the RCS to be the first to LOSE their stupid chicken. Instead, I did this total C.C.S.I. (Chicken Crime Scene Investigation) thing on the Mercury, and found Mephistopheles lodged under the back seat. Whoot! Hooray. I then decided to reward him for not escaping by making him a new outfit. Here are the things you should try valiently to remember prior to attempting to hand-sew a chicken a t-shirt:
1) I can’t sew.
2) Chickens don’t have arms, making a t-shirt a poor fashion choice.
3) L.A. Looks French Manicure White nail polish is not anywhere NEAR as effective as actual PAINT.
4) Where the white-out is.
5) ANYONE can make a Hot Topic style douchebag necklace, and thus NO ONE should ever buy one.
In related news, Avagodro has also disappeared. No one is surprised. Sirrah has spent the last two days showing A his future by exposing him to all kinds of foods in which chicken is the main ingrediant. She was set to prepare chicken pot pie for dinner. No wonder he pulled a bunker!
I had an interesting conversation with Kevin’s owner Kelly earlier today. A transcript follows:
Kelly: Dude, why did you send me this fucking chicken?
Me: What’s the problem?
Kelly: He thinks he’s a fucking unicorn. He has a horn strapped to his head and he won’t stop running around the house whinnying.
Me: He’s probably looking for virgins.
Kelly: Yeah, well I wish him luck.
I suppose that all newly fledged chicken utopias have their growing pains.