Super Chicken: The Lost Episode: Difference between revisions
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Prior to packing a towel around my manpendage I shaved my pubes and picked up a VHS tape from the bathroom cabinet adjacent to the toilet. The door was ajar despite being a door. The tape was simple. "Super Chicken in: Life's a Bitch and Then You Commit Suicide". Strange. I always thought Super Chicken was a g-rated show, and as the ultimate connoisseur of The Super Chicken, I had thought right. I opened the septic tank and grasped for my trusty sledgehammer and smacked the living fuck shit out of the VHS tape. It exploded into itty bitty pieces. There were shit smears on my face from the explosion, but beggars can't be choosers. I sat down on the couch next to Maddie and started working on my lesson plan for tomorrow.
I scratched my head and stick a finger up my asshole in deep thought. I couldn't keep it in any longer so I took a giant shit on the couch. Then I proferred what was on my mind to Matilda. "Hey, Maddie, would you say that a vas deferns has deference,
Her eyes were bloodshit. I mean bloodslit. Bloodshot. Yeah. "Hey, uh, Maddie, I'll, ah, get a s-s-s-sponge.", I stuttered. But it was too late. I got up
I reached into the toiletry and pulled out what I thought would be another
I sat on the couch. "Hey, Maddie, wanna watch a tape?", I asked in cautious excitement. "I have no eyes and I can't see.", Matilda responded to my shock and horror. I let out a scream at what happened next. I
The usual theme song played out. "When you find yourself in danger, when you're threatened by a stranger, when it looks like you will take a lickin'
Super Chicken was smoking crack in his penthouse. He was dressed in a fancy tuxedo. "It's my Tennessee Tuxedo", he clucked out to the audience with a wink. "I bought it off a cat." Well O.K. whatever. I reached for some popcorn but then realized I forgot to make any popcorn, so all I did was grab some air. The telephone in Super Chicken's world rang. He answered it. "Hello? Fred's in danger?
"Well, I give up.", I announced out loud. Matilda was gone. I realized she was never there. It didn't matter, though. Nothing in life matters at all. I stuck my hand on the pile of brown-greenish goo on the sofa and rubbed it all over one of my cheeks (get it, cheeks) to make myself resemble a scatplay Two Face. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a white-powder laced quarter. "Heads I win, tails I win.", I said. It came up tails. It was a two-tailed quarter, so I rigged it so that I could only win. "Fuck yeah, I'm getting some 7-11."
I forgot to put pants on but I walked out the door and over to the nearest 7-11. The Bangladeshi gentleman behind the register didn't care. He's a good guy, I didn't blame him. He knew me. I came in to peruse the hamburger section, but they were all out so I grabbed myself a chicken sandwich. I paid with my bat credit card. Just fucking kidding, there's no such thing as a bat credit card duhr what the fuck are you that gullible. I walked outside, took a
I woke up the next morning in a police interrogation center. A secretary with a backwards Western Governors University baseball cap and Toad the Wet Sprocket branded turtle neck informed me that an ambulance arrived and defibrillated me back to good health. A local farm had dedicated chicken blood and a slab of a rooster's cranium and inserted it into me while I was out colder than Peter Buttgig's presidential ambitions. However, despite my miraculous survival, the fecal face treatment and towel-only torso covering got me in a bit of a boo boo. The police arrived at my apartment to find the long rotted corpse of a 45-year old woman, identified as Mrs. Matilda Scratchnsniff—the wife of the very chicken farmer who had unknowingly saved my life. I was sentenced to an eternity in prison without parole, and all the pigs could think to ask me was 'why, why, why, oink oink, why'?
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