Wednesday, December 19, 2007

IV. 12/19/07

Grimironie's low-carb, zero trans-fat beer was nice and cold. What normally would have been a high-fivin' and reckless celebration of terminated Death Chickens was considerably diminished, and she knew that she supplied the bitters in the Old Fashioned.

Ah yes! She had once been the obnoxious, hot, new rookie, but like Jeff Gordon, she mellowed into a humble and indisputably talented mid-career giant. Sigh! She shouldn't be so angry at Billy-Ray MacHaggis III, but she couldn't shake the twitch in her left eye. She didn't realize that she shouted "Poopy head!" until Ole' Pappy, her favorite barkeep, passed a laxative suppository to her with her next shot of Chai.

"A tea drinker. That's so suave," whispered an irksome voice in her ear. It was none other than the object of her greatest annoyance, Billy-Ray MacHaggis III.

"One relish comment, and I'll baste you where you stand," Grim muttered through clenched teeth.

"No offense meant," he said, "I'll catch you on the flip ... side."

Dang! He was smooth for an irritating, marinade seeking, green and waxed freshman. He skulked into the corner, and into the comfort of nubile fans.

Grimironie glanced at Pappy's calendar; it was December 18th, the anniversary of The Great Roast. That's what started it all, long before she was born.

flashback, most likely narrated by James Earl Jones

2017: The Great Roast. The Society of Genetic Food Engineers had long battled the political criticism of PETA. Years of petty arguments over milk made the geneticists complacent. They had no suspicions of PETA's new agenda: to free all genetically engineered poultry from laboratories worldwide. "Free Range Chickens - Yeah!" That was their cry of triumph after they infiltrated and sabotaged all of the facilities run by chicken geneticists. The rest is history. The engineered chickens took to the fields, and their evolution accelerated at an unprecedented rate to produce The Death Chickens, a species more deadly and tasty than had ever walked the Earth before. They were 30 foot monsters who roamed the world, ready to peck unsuspecting townsfolk. They also supplied low-fat and nutritious protein to all. They were a both a curse and a blessing, and Grimironie owed her livlihood to them.

She could have followed her father's footsteps and become a widget engineer, which would be a cozy and safe career. Something tugged at her to follow Grandfather Otto's lead, and she couldn't face the possibility of settling down and creating new and innovative widgets despite the great good it would do for small business owners. She felt that she failed her father, but she needed the adrenaline rush from full-frontal basting. Again: sigh.

"No more orange pekoe for you, young lady. I'm calling you a cab." That Ole' Pappy, he always cut her off too soon.

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