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  • and I see that you are
  • driving along the innerstate, westward traffic was offered off-ramp dining at applebee's. the prospect of whores and dinner was luring ken-tucks from miles around. however i was driving eastward and had no intentions of distilling or coal mining so i did not cut across the road divide as many of the 18-wheelers were so nimbly executing. miles passed and the faint memory of the applebee's menu became less faint. which is to say, my decision to bypass the only game in town may not have been so wise.

    more miles and roadkill passed.

    and there it was...poorly lit and unmarked...an off-ramp!!! while i've never driven the florida stock car circuit i did show a bit of promise as i negotiated the winding path to the end of the road.

    (to be continued...)
  • Hurry uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup

    I want to see how this turns out
  • It will end with goons and killers at Mickey D's.
  • (continued)

    coming into clear view was an all-nite eatery with signage promising kentucky's finest!!! slamming the breaks, the tires locked and, interplaying with the loose gravel, my el camino slid to a stop.

    exhaling, i noted the dire movements of the mood-disco ball perched from the rear view mirror.

    removing the keys from the ignition and opening the heavy door, i stretched my left leg to the ground. the beauty of the el camino is you are immersed in a constant aura of sleekness. however, you must leave the aura from time to time and the transition from sleek/aura to self-locomotion is often difficult. which is to say i was stiffer than sin. i ambled down the walkway to the lone structure in the surrounding woods.

    completing a final turn, i approached the primary entrance. such southern hospitality! i was greeted by the south's ambassador for the ages
  • ooh, ooh can I do a chapter
  • course you can.
  • Hurry uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup

    I want to see how this turns out
  • As I stood there eyeballing the old pimp who had taught me everything I know about the game I was overcome with a overwhelming sense of awe. He had done it. He had really gotten out of the game, parlaying his pimp juice into one of the world's most recognized franchise opportunities. The last time I saw the mean old cuss he was pimp slapping whores out behind the Applebee's and running bootleg hooch in dry counties and small towns in Kentucky. Now he was this iconic figure on the side of buckets of fried chicken. Everyone thought he dressed that way because he was some southern country gentleman. But game recognizes game, and I knew that bow tie and cane were merely accoutrements of his former profession.

    "Sonny" (that's what he always called me) "I have never asked you for one thing the whole time you were under my wing." "But it's hard out here for a pimp. I got big trouble and I need your help."

    "Come on in and let me tell you about it over a bucket of chicken, you still like livers and gizzards"?

    (to be continued...)
  • edited December 2009
    you kinda get to spinnin' when you get so many things come at you and you had no notion they'd be comin'. course i like gizzards and livers. and i know there ain't no point in askin'

    you open the door to a memphis gashouse and you expect to hear memphis blues. you open the door to a kentucky chicken fry-joint you expect to the smell the whole chicken.

    and we did.

    the old pimp - ok, i'll call him "colonel" for ya...the colonel was takin' smaller than he'd care to admit steps, but we made it to the order counter. he looked at the menu and a pinin' look crossed his lips, then his eyes.

    you ain't got no money i said to him as much a question as an understandin'. what kinda trouble you got y'erself in?
  • Perry "Gooch" Grundle slid unnoticed into the restroom of the famous fast food chain, he stopped and stared into the mirror, connecting the dots between the
    splatters of various secretions on the glass and the unidentified splotches on his skin. Reaching deep into the side pocket of his military jacket, he pulled out a medium sized brown rat of surprisingly even temperament and placed it onto the pitted porcelain rim of the lavatory basin.
    "This is our night, Yastrzemski; I can feel it."
    He stretched a fitted secret seasoning breading suit onto the rat's body, situated it gently back into his pocket and made his way to the counter to place his order.
  • I guess it was fate that me and the Colonel approached the counter at the exact moment that Gooch was running that tired old Kentucky fried rat scam of his. At any other KFC at any other moment in time this scam would have been good for a free lifetime supply livers and gizzards. But Gooch always was one unlucky SOB. And his luck stayed true to form. This classic scam, which was meticulously executed I might add, did not yield the fruit Gooch expected. Just as Gooch was laying it on thick about calling his lawyer, the Colonel calmly walked up behind him and administered the most severe asswhuppin that can be applied with a gold plated diamond encrusted pimp cane with a hollowed out center capable of holding a full pint of sour mash. Truly it was a thing of beauty, I didn't think it was possible for the old man to swing that hard. Were it not for the bleeding and the hollering this asswhuppin could have been classified as a work of art. But I felt it best if the Colonel weren't their when the cops arrived so convinced him to take a ride in the el Camino. As he was strapping on his seat belt I asked him if he ever played golf.

    He looked at me with a puzzled look and replied "No, why do you ask?"
  • Yastrzemski stared at Gooch’s motionless form,
    “I’m not goin’ back to the cage,” he thought to himself as he frantically clawed at the zipper of his costume. The bristles of an industrial broom slammed the floor next to where he stood sending him into a rodentine scurry through the restaurant. Buckets and boxes of breasts, legs and thighs were launched from screaming patrons as the strange original reciped creature maneuvered between the strewn chicken parts and hysterical diners.
    Yastrzemski escaped another swipe of the angry broom by jumping into the large handbag of a scantily clad woman with heavy makeup being roughed up by her male companion.

    Meanwhile…….the elves piloted the sleigh just above the vehicle as it pulled out of parking lot of the chicken house.
    “Clause must think we just fell off the tonka truck,” the driver smirked as he snapped the reigns.
    The elf riding shotgun pointed field glasses at the pair in the car, “how can you be sure it’s him?”
    The diminutive driver grabbed the binoculars and sharpened their view,
    “he can’t hide behind a shave and a white suit…..this isn’t the first time he’s tried this trans-icon hide n’ seek.”
  • Why didn't we finish this. I would totally check out this novel at the library or better yet watch it on Netflix (House of Cards and Breaking Bad, you better watch your ass). Of course we don't have Brittleblood (or do we)? Any similarities to this thread are purely coincidental. No threads were harmed in the making of this mockery.

    Two paragraph max, must integrate the previous entry into the new entry, cannot follow yourself without an intervening entry from someone else, every 10 days is the beginning of a new chapter.

    Any takers
  • I can't contribute to this endeavor. But I wish you the best.
  • I can't contribute to this endeavor. But I wish you the best.

    said Katrina as she helped Perry up off the floor. Then she looked him straight in the eyes and gave a big wink and walked away. Perry was still so stunned and shocked that it took him a full minute to realize his jacket felt heavier than it had before. He checked his left pocket first and drew out his hand with a set of car keys in it. The logo on the keys was strange, but oddly familiar. It looked like this:

    delorean-logo.jpg.

    He tried his right pocket and drew his hand back out fast, almost like he'd been burned. He knew the shape and weight of the revolver all too well. So, it's like that, he thought, the Lady's sending me on a quest. He whistled for his rat, and headed for the door.
  • image

    http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/7604498

    Rats, rats lay down flat, we don't need you we act like that...

    Syd Barrett
  • @amclark2 ;    "Bones?  Of course it has bones.  Otherwise it wouldn't be Extra Crunchy."
  • That thing that looks like a rat tail is really just they forgot to take the stem off their plant hybrid chicken breast when they picked it.
  • It's clearly a teabag.
    (Culture has nothing to do with perception).
  • Life imitates art

    They really should pay us money to finish this novel
  • Spoiler Alert - if you prefer to live in a world where such things may be, don't disillusion yourself with this Extra Crispy follow-up:
     http://www.foxnews.com/leisure/2015/06/23/kfc-says-dna-shows-fried-rat-was-chicken-tender/?intcmp=latestnews
  • A rat with chicken DNA is still a rat.
  • @amclark2 ;  Good point, and probably he was eating chicken before he fell in the fryer anyhow.
  • It looks like there is just a drop of hot sauce on the, um, rat's front shoulder.

    Yum
  • How did chicken DNA end up in a teabag?
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