|Replicant||Hissing and clunking, the engine finally gave out and the car slowed to a stop on the desert road.|
|Niece||The chickens in the back clucking away.|
|Fork U||"Yeah, right." she says. "This is the oldest trick in the book. You get me out here in the middle of nowhere and feign car trouble. All this effort just try to get me to look at your lizard."|
|Eric J. Gustafson||"But the Emerald Gecko is a thing of rare beauty!!"|
|Replicant||"You must realise, though, that your stories don't con me," she said. "Just because it's scaly don't mean it's a lizard." She stood there and glared at him, defiant with her arms folded, the moonlight reflecting brightly from the polish on her wooden teeth.|
|Right Reverend Saint Ch'ngo||He broke down. "Okay! I admit it. I have only lured you here to perform reptilogical intercessions on my very own personal genus of trouser snake! It's true! I am a duplicitous and HORNY BASTARD!" With that, he lunged for her, teeth be damned.|
|Other||She sneezed mightily, spewing her spew full in his face. Suddenly clearheaded, she began to question her own acquiescence to this acquaintance. "The clucking chickens should have been my first clue," she knew, now.|
Blinded now, his hulk heaved past her, his head hammering the left side door post.
|Marian Zeletz||"What chickens?" he asked, gazing straightforwardly into her eyes. His face now wore the expressionless mask of the seasoned liar.|
Loud clucking from the car trunk.
"Those chickens!" She pointed insistantly toward the car.
More loud clucking.
"I'm talking about the CLUCKING chickens in the MOTHERclucking car!" Her voice had become shrill.
Louder clucking from the car.
"No, no... why ever would I? ...There's always cactus," she offered, brightening.
She was returning from the car, rummaging through her purse. Digging deeply into its depths, she wrestled out a blowtorch. "I KNEW this would come in handy one day." She de-thorned the nearest sprawling cactus.
He hunkered down the in shade of the car. "I suppose you're going to BURN us up some edible parts?"
An hour later, as they sat licking up the last delicious drops of a
Crème Brulée au Jus de Poires Prickly with evenly blowtorch browned natural prickly pear sugar carmelized on its glistening crust, he looked at her guiltily. "I have a confession to make."
"There ARE chickens in the trunk."
"There ARE chickens in the trunk, and we're REALLY out of gas."
"But I'm a devout chickenitarian and complete vegetarian."
"LOOK! There's no way I'm EVER going to sacrifice my principles... or my lizard... ... . . . . . . . . .  .  .  .  ...  ........  . ............    .    .    .    .    .    . DEATH before defeat!!!" He was ranting, frustrated by her continuing icy glare.
"We're only going to be able last as long as you have blowtorch fuel," he stated tersely.
They stared at each other, he, in determination, she, in stark and silent terror, as the sun slipped over the horizon.
Days later, the two lie despondently in the sand. A large cow skull looms above them in fiery insolence, burning its seering heat down on them. The gecko skitters playfully across a virgin dune.
"I'VE GOT IT!!!" He shouts, suddenly leaping to his feet. "IT'S THE CHICKENS!!!"
"Methane!" he triumphs, as they pull joyfully away.
|Not Tim O'Neil||Like Claudette Colbert and Fred MacMurry, soon the two had a thriving chicken farm where they raised chickens
for fuel. Things went well until one day they got a call from a tall, gaunt, thinly bearded stranger.|
"I've come for my chickens," he told them at the door.
Claudette covered her mouth in horror, and Fred peered at the puzzling character while scratching his head.
Shock and horror leapt on to the faces of the methane harvesters as scary shock music led the way to the next horrible, crappy chapter in this saga.
|Replicant||"Now look here, old boy," said the man, whose name was suddenly, for no good reason, finally revealed to be Purty Joe Delgado. "Life is very short, and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend."|
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