It was a dark and stormy night. Outside, lightning flashed, wind whipped the trees into frenzy and thunder shook the house. Zzaap! A power pole lit up and burned, crashing down onto the best manicured lawn on the block. Not ours.
All the houses went dark.
Perfect setting for a horror movie. Or romance. We could have pulled out the candles and shut the doors. So what did we do to celebrate our anniversary? Pulled out the portable dvd player and watched Twilight. If vampires suck, so did our anniversary. Yuck it up. Go ahead.
Is that the best we could do? Really? I’m not saying what happened earlier in the day when nobody was home but us chickens. I am saying most of the day one of us ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, keeping the sky from falling. And the other hunted and pecked at the keyboard, searching for crumbs or paying bills—or both. Exhaustion can make even spring chickens turn into chicken zombies at night. Yet we learned the bright side of things on the darkest night of the year. We chickens already had one egg that hatched into a zombie fighter.
Another egg hatched into Omega Man, who cleans up crime throughout the land. With a plunger. That’s some serious sit fighting, although he’s a stand up guy. You know what I mean. He’s even had some commercial success. You guessed it, in a commercial. Something fishy about a sushi chef advertising comics. TBS
Too bad not enough of our nest eggs hatched to keep all our chickens, I mean children, fed. Maybe its the size of those little cluckers, not so small any more, and always hungry. So we did some nest cleaning before the big storm the night of our anniversary. No, wait. That was a whole week before. However times flies, we were still tired from the stress or helping another fledgling fly the coop. Of course, seeing this fledging in front of a 7′ tall door, you’ll wonder how much bigger one could get. And maybe how sharp are his teeth?
Three down—I mean up, flying like eagles,or maybe vampires—and one to go. That last one’s taken so many whacks at the nest he may destroy our entire nest-egg before he flies. As a result, this year seemed like be a good time to do something cheap—or free—to celebrate our anniversary.
Of course, the afternoon was too hot for the picnic we’d planned. How could we live in Florida so long and not see that coming? So we decided to go to a movie. By the time we agreed on one, we had to eat quick. No fast food for us though, not for two people trying to live down the anniversary when we ate at McDonald’s. This year we ate Korean, spicy food raring to come out as fast as it went in. Then we hightailed to the theater early, so early we were just in time to read the “Sold Out” sign. In past years, my rooster might have put on his fighting spurs to get a seat. This time, we both chickened out and went home.
Then we lay on the bed like two zombie chickens, riveted to a nine-inch screen. We should have used real rivets because our eyes kept trying to close—or fall out. Even if none of our body parts did fall off, they creaked and moaned along with the house as it weathered the storm. Sorry for mixing zombie and chicken metaphors. What do you expect for chickenfeed?
My point is we did nothing but watch the movie. A few times we even heard it between rounds of thunder. Ours sounded better than the movie’s. And what was the point of the movie, assuming the snoring I heard from hubby wasn’t it? Love doesn’t turn out well for stupid young humans and possessive vampires. There’s no good ending possible. All the wrinkle cream on the planet can’t fix a relationship wherein the man doesn’t show his age as much as the woman.
Take my advice, girls. If you want a blood-sucker to bite you, open your window. There’s a mosquito out there just waiting for the chance. While you’re at it, smear on some wrinkle cream and stay out of the bright sun to avoid premature aging. Or is it stay in the bright sun to avoid vampires? But that causes premature wrinkles. Oh, now I get it. No wonder girls can’t resist vampires. Becoming one isn’t so stupid after all.
Let me know if this tickled your funny bone because even if you’re another zombie chicken I can’t see your funny bone myself. At least don’t be a chicken zombie, a total oxymoron. Tell me. I need followers, grave ones. I meant to type brave ones, but doesn’t the typo fit better? Also,if you follow me, I might even introduce you to one of my four sons. Not the youngest. He’s on the warpath right now.