Friday, April 28, 2017
Today I am grateful for a huge blown-up chicken. Some days you’re just driving along minding your own business and BAM, right in front of your face is a huge blown-up chicken. Just sitting there. Asking for it.
I wanted to run into it with my car. Oh come on. . .lighten up. . . don’t even pretend you don’t have these subversive thoughts sometimes. We’re all human. Some of us more than others. So I wanted to bash it with my car, but not because it was ugly, or because I’m mean. It had a smug, “you can’t get me,” look on its face. And I wanted to wipe it off. With my car. Just once.
Not hard. Not enough to break it or cause it to dislodge and take flight over Hilltown. Just enough to see how much resistance it would afford against my car. That would be so much fun. I might be suffering from repressed aggression. Y’ think?
Because it would be even more fun to punch it. Hard. With my fists. Over and over again. It is yellow, after all, with a bad comb-over. Punching it might feel really, really good.
News at 11. . . And the big story is. . .”An elderly woman has been arrested for assault on a huge blown-up chicken. She was seen pounding the crap out if it while screaming “Get a clue! Get a clue!” over and over. She cackled and clucked throughout her arraignment at KFC. Her attorneys are entering a plea of insanity.” I’m okay with that.