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My Big Red Couch

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

La muerte del pollo negro

La muerte del pollo negro, originally uploaded by Bearded Jon.

So you go to the gym. You work out for an hour. You come home ready to hit the shower and when you turn the key in the lock something isn't quite right. A feeling. The sixth sense.

You walk in the door and the first thing that crosses your mind is “what the hell happened here?”

You walk from room to room, follow the trail of feathers and wonder, when you reach the corner at the end of the hall, what you will find. The violins reach an eerie and frenetic pace, but no, this is no horror movie. You step around the corner and in the midst of a pool of black feathers there is... nothing. Just black feathers. Everywhere.

The black chicken is no more.

But the black chicken was not poultry, it was a feather boa. No blood, no smell, no fuss, no muss. Just pick up the feathers and get on with your lives.

But who could have done this while we were away? Aliens with a grudge against burlesque? An ex stripper out for revenge? A small dog with way too much energy? It boggles the mind.

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