THE TRIALS OF GLADYS CRUNCHBUTTOCK
A Slur On Chicken's
Gladys had been sat by the Olympic size swimming pool in her wardrobe one day shearing the Gnu for a new winter coat when the shocking news came on the radio:
"The BBC announced today that the President of the EU Jean Claud Von Rumpy Pumpy has issued a statement that a law banning any further reference in a public place as to why chickens cross the road is to be introduced "
"A non gender spokesblob announced that this disgusting practice enquiring into a chicken's private life will be considered as an invasion of privacy and offenders will be subject to the full force of the law".
The next day Gladys contacted her friend Alicia Plunge in the Bewdley WI Secret service section MAYJS (Move And You're Jam Sucker).
"What's going on Alicia, all this bollocks about not telling chicken jokes?"
Alicia put aside the barbed wire underpants she'd been knitting for the new President of Wyre Forest District Council, Donald Trumpet-Mongrel.
"Well dear it appears from our intelligence that a chicken from a remote part of the Amazon jungle has recently sent a text to the EU President in Rumpy Pumpy City. (This had previously been known as Brussels but as all the 93 million residents now worked fiddling the expenses for the EU the new name seemed more appropriate). Claiming that the question of Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road was "Insulting and degrading".
The chicken translation department had sent over a copy.
"This disgusting question was an insult to chickens all over the world, do you seriously think they themselves didn't know why they crossed the bloody road".
"It's to buy drugs from the gangs of juvenile chicks on the council coop estates you moron. You could always spot them hanging around the back of the Hutcho Techs, with their shaved heads and fashionably styled razored wing feathers, hob nailed walnut shell Doc Martina's and the sharpened eggshell impregnated celery sticks strapped to their backs.
“When I was a chick you were always taught by the Family Planning officers at Bewdley Comprehensive Chicken School that you stayed away from these types of hens, or you could end up being wrapped in cling film on a shelf in Sainsbury's being tied up with your legs stuck up you bum”
Lotti and a Punter
There's always lots of Henstitutes hanging around the condom machines strutting on dangerously high heeled claws and showing off shaved legs covered in tattoos, back-combed feather wigs piled high and wearing long false hen lashes and vivid red beak stick. And they don't care who the punters are, they'll go with anything for 3 grains of seed, bloody inter-breeders. And they don't care what the neighbours say. That slut "Lotti Picklebeak's" the worst, lets the local hutcherhood down something rotten.
Then there's the Mufia that control the drugs of course, this month's specials are spliffs consisting of one third Trill, one third heroin and one third powdered whale sperm known as "Happy Cockerel". And then there's the purple and green striped "Chinese Mandarin LSD Eggstasy" pills.
Mind you the drugs is the only thing that takes your mind off things. I suppose you think its easy laying bleedin eggs all the time like you've never got anything better to do. It was alright before they knocked down the old Hens R Us Cluck and Strutting Club and instead built those luxury high rise coops by the new waterside pond development (Got hot and cold running seed's, feather and claw clipping salons and even their own Jaccusi bum masseurs for after a hard day's laying). You could go to the old place and have a few Gin and Limes with your mates, play Peck the Cat, have a good cluck and Strut around all day. Not any more mate, I'm too knackered. Went to the Bewdley Henstitute the other night for the Line Dancing, me legs was aching so much I kept falling out of the line on me beak and everyone thought I was doing the Hokey bleedin Cokey.
Anyway how would you like it eh? Squeezing all them soddin things out of your ass every day? Eh? Well let me tell you that unless you're drugged out of your tiny bleedin mind its bleedin painful mate. And despite all this stress we have to put up with you lot taking the piss with stupid bloody jokes.
Why don't you humans leave us alone eh, we aint done nothing wrong to you lot. Thought humans were supposed to be intelligent enough not to ask such stupid sodin questions. How wrong can a bleedin chicken be.
Over the years Gladys had heard enough pathetic Conservative Club Chicken Jokes and sympathised with the overworked and worn out hens and immediately despatched Albert and the Gnu to the Amazon with a supply of her home made Liver and Marmalade jam and various sized Curry flavoured Whoopy Cushions. Together they should add some spice to the chickens lives.
TO BE CONTINUED ........