Today in chicken news:
(stay tuned for pics)
This morning I woke up and couldn’t find Mephistopheles. This is getting increasingly more worrying as I keep finding him doing weirder and weirder shit. When I finally located him, he was at my craft table (OMG I have a craft table, I am officially 9,000,000 years old!) trying to make a super muscley, armless robot suit. I don’t know what this thing is going to do, but there are obvious chicken missiles attached at the shoulders. I’m curious as to what a cock rocket entails, but not curious enough to piss off my chicken. He’s already in a terrible mood because I took away his helmet and made him leave the puppy alone.
I spoke with Sirrah briefly last night. She says that Avogadro is still traumatized by his “time in the closet” which I’m sure is a euphemism for “dumbass, I put my chicken in the blender,” but I’m not saying anything because SERIOUSLY she kinda scares me. She’s looking for an appropriate chicken disaster blanket along the lines of those really scratchy crappy ones the cops give people to comfort them after their houses burn down or they’ve been violently raped. Those blanket are terrible. Handing someone one of those crap sheets is like saying: “Here, we totally feel bad for you. Now shut up and wrap up in this cozy, cozy pine cone.” Why cant the cops get a NICE victim comfort blanket? Maybe this should be an RCS charity endeavor — donating blankets of at least 30% cashmere to cop shops and hospitals to be used for victims who DESERVE cashmere — drunk people who get hauled naked out of the local swimming pool and forgot where they put their clothes (me), do not qualify.
“Where in the HELL is Titian?” you might be asking yourselves. Don’t worry, we’re on it. Titian’s new owner, Amber, is on a super top-secret mega major mission right now. Probably reports will start trickling in, but (honestly) she could be dead. WE MAY NEVER KNOW. The RCS is nothing if not mysterious.
Conversation With Kelly:
me: what’s up TITZ?
Kelly: Kevin’s going to try to get a job today.
me: dude, why is your chicken in need of a job? did he find a place that was advertising a career in unicorn?
Kelly: well, he kinda needs one. He’s got a 150 dollar a day pseudo crack habit.
me: you’re STILL selling your chicken fake crack?
Kelly: it’s pretty lucrative, dude.
me: yeah, I see that. Where’s he applying?
Kelly: KFC is hiring.
me: KFC?!? As in Kentucky Fried Chicken?
Kelly: yeah, well Kevin MAY be under the misapprehension that the whole FRIED CHICKEN part of the name is a corporate wide job recruitment strategy for chicken drug addicts. He feels like he’d fit right in.
me: how did Kevin come to be under this misapprehension?
Kelly: I MAY have kind of suggested it to him. He was pretty confused about the Kentucky part, too. I told him we were in Mississippi, but that the restaurant was in Kentucky. That seemed to settle him.
me: knowledge is power, dude.
Kelly: Well, Kevin’s shit out of luck.