Story Thread 4

Send in your contributions...

ReplicantHissing and clunking, the engine finally gave out and the car slowed to a stop on the desert road.
NieceThe 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'ngoHe 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.
OtherShe 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.
"There are NO chickens in the car. I don't know what you're talking about."

More loud clucking.

"I'm talking about the CLUCKING chickens in the MOTHERclucking car!" Her voice had become shrill.
"You must be hallucinating. It's this desert. It's the melted clocks... you... you're losing your grip on reality. It's hunger! It's affected your brain... you must be hearing some kind of chicken cluck mirage...."
"Fine... fine... whatever you say...." Numbness deadened her voice. "We still have the lizard...."
"You're not thinking of EATING my lizard, are you?" He blurted in outrage.

Louder clucking from the car.

"No, no... why ever would I? ...There's always cactus," she offered, brightening.
"Brilliant idea! Just HOW are we supposed to eat this stuff? It's covered with SPINES!"

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?"
"Heavens, no." She redeposited the blowtorch in her commodious bag, then extracted a small machete. "Never know when you might need the odd implement."

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."

No response.

"There ARE chickens in the trunk, and we're REALLY out of gas."


"But I'm a devout chickenitarian and complete vegetarian."

Profound silence.

"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!!!"
"They've been there all along!"
"W-what?" she asks, foggy with sleep and weakness.
"The chickens, darling... don't you see?" he asks, poignantly grasping both her hands in his.
"I'm afraid I don't understand," she ventures timidly.
"You'll understand soon enough." He is now pacing feverishly back and forth. "You don't have any kind of tubing in that bag of yours, do you?"
"I might." She begans emptying the bag. Out comes the blowtorch, the machete, a basketball, a miniature Christmas tree, two mirrors, an ice tray, duct tape, a Magritte print in a plastic frame, and a small vacuum cleaner.
"Aha!!! Perfect!" He cries as he grabs the duct tape and the vacuum cleaner. Deftly, he tapes the vacuum cleaner hose so that it connects the trunk space to the gas tank.

"Methane!" he triumphs, as they pull joyfully away.

Not Tim O'NeilLike 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.
"Your chickens? We bought this entire lot about two years ago. You're nuts, old man."
The character pointed a bony finger at Fred. "You will pay for your insolence, for I am master of ALL chickens, and... their LOVER."

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."

Add a segment to this thread
(mention which thread)

Previous thread