People always pester me with the same questions: \u201cAre you chicken or are you man?\u201d \u201cDo you fight the crimes of men or the crimes of, um, chickens?\u201d \u201cYou are the stupidest superhero ever.\u201d My answer, regardless of the question, is always the same: \u201cYou\u2019re the stupidest superhero ever!\u201d This works well enough most of the time, but it tends to fall flat whenever people try to have normal conversation with me. Thankfully, this almost never happens, since apparently people don\u2019t like talking with overweight, sweaty middle-aged men who dress like chickens. Yes, this leaves me with crippling loneliness and depression, but I have learned to channel these feelings of despondency into unparalleled chicken powers.<\/p>\n
For instance, did you know that my adamantine beak can peck through the marrow of 1000 black holes? Well, I hope you didn\u2019t know that, because it\u2019s blatantly false. In fact, I\u2019m pretty sure it doesn\u2019t even make sense. But here\u2019s what I can do. I can, like, totally scratch you, and stuff\u2014trust me, it\u2019s uber impressive. I\u2019m pretty much the most powerful chicken-man I know.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Excepting, of course, The Night Chicken\u2014my deadly arch nemesis\/brother-father (don\u2019t question the logic, just know that my relationship with him is full of sweet plot-twists).<\/p>\n
I remember my first encounter with The Night Chicken like yesterday\u2014which is weird, since it happened earlier today. My noble, chiseled silhouette was streaking through the alleyways of my evil-infested neighborhood. The glowing half-moon prevented me from lurking in invisibility, but I lurked nonetheless. A fellow citizen of Meadow Shine Lane eyed me with distrusting eyes, and then sprayed me with distrusting mace. Mace, my one weakness. It seemed Fate did not favor me this night. Fate, my one weakness. (Oh, I have many one-weaknesses. One-weaknesses, my one real weakness.)<\/p>\n
Blinded by the injustice of this nefarious attack (also, by the mace), I fell into a mighty chicken-rage. Surging pecks of my beak seasoned the black night like pepper upon a lush, tasty rotisserie chicken. Did nature deserve such unparalleled avian wrath? I asked myself this as I added more pepper to my lush, tasty rotisserie chicken. It was then that I heard the voice. His voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t that a bit weird? You know\u2014eating a chicken while pretending to be a chicken?\u201d Weird? What\u2019s so weird about eating your required protein for the day? No, weird would be if I captured farm chickens in my spare time, dressed them up as people, gave them names like \u201cCaptain Cock,\u201d and then played hide-and-seek with them for hours. That, my friends, is weird. (Incidentally, I do this.)<\/p>\n
My mocking chicken face shot towards this questioning intruder. I recognized immediately the wicked, chaotic power that this man wielded. True, he donned the earthly form of a quiet, frail boy of about thirteen years of age; but I would not be tricked by his deadly childish illusion. He was no child! He was pure man . . . and pure chicken! A dramatic reverb echoed in my head as I reached this ridiculous conclusion. My human mind chastised me for \u201cignoring basic reasoning altogether.\u201d But my chicken-logic was tingling\u2014the ridiculousness of my conclusion only verified its truthfulness<\/p>\n
\u201cSir,\u201d The Night Chicken continued, \u201cdo you even have a job? Have you ever even kissed a girl?\u201d My word . . . How did this dark chicken know so much about my personal life? Unless he was . . . my father!!! I tried to deny this, but everything pointed to this conclusion.<\/p>\n
What could I do, but run? So run I did. Away from my chicken father, as far away as my emotionally wounded wings would carry me, until I reached the heart of downtown. I turned my gaze towards the heavens and passionately cried out, \u201cNight Chicken! You have not seen the last of me!\u201d<\/p>\n
Naturally, I was quickly arrested for drunken disorderly conduct and indecent exposure. I asked the police if they had ever seen a chicken wearing pants, but they didn\u2019t seem to get the point. Oh well. The Night Chicken had won this round.<\/p>\n
But, rest assured, that 13-year-old punk is going down.<\/p>\n
The adventures of Chickenman have only begun.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
People always pester me with the same questions: \u201cAre you chicken or are you man?\u201d \u201cDo you fight the crimes of men or the crimes of, um, chickens?\u201d \u201cYou are the stupidest superhero ever.\u201d My answer, regardless of the question, … Continue reading