Phoenix Fables

Chicken Shit Surround Sound

I’m hoping roosters taste exactly like chicken, because my other neighbor just got a mutha-fuckin’ rooster.

We already had one southeast of our bedroom.  Now the house directly to our west set up a rooster right outside our kitchen.

How do I know?  Because I had a sleepless night in Gilbert and wandered out to the couch.  Fell asleep to the Science Channel and woke up at the crack of dawn to what sounded like a old woman with pnuemonia being attacked by vultures.

Took me 3 minutes to think through my bleary eyes to realize — it’s just more chicken shit.  Now it’s coming from the other side of the house. Goddamn chicken-shit surround sound.

One goes off, then the other to match, and then they are screaming to see who can make the most noise before the garbage trucks arrive…

Why the fuck do these people need a rooster?  Baby chicks are a couple of bucks.  You can buy all you want cheaper than you can feed your own loudmouth aggressive “cock”.

Every time I think our society is making progress, some shit like this pops up.  We were doing so well.  Indoor plumbing replaced shitting in your backyard.  Sewer systems replaced storing your shit underground in your back yard.

Concrete fences and leash laws kept dogs from wandering the streets and forming little street gangs of dachshunds and golden retrievers.

There used to be laws that kept goats and cows and chickens out of suburban back yards. I really don’t want to live next to my meat.  Let them grow on those factory fields in Iowa or Arkansas — those people love manure.

But these goddamn hippies and crazy-ass preppers with their fresh vegetables and organic animals brought the chickens back to suburbia.

What’s next? Are we going to start running sheep down main street during sheering time again? Fuck.

This mini-farm in the burbs is not a healthy movement for better food.  It’s a fall back to serfdom.

Next step, we will have to survive on what we can grow on our own little plots while “The Lord” of the manner controls all the means of production.  Only this time, the Lord doesn’t live in a mansion we can see.  He’s hidden behind investment banks and living in one of 6 mansions spread around the world depending on the season and the local taxes.

All this reactionary economic theory is running through my head before I can even get off the couch and get coffee.  But the coffee maker is in the kitchen, a scant 20-feet from that screaming chicken.

Should I go outside with a pitchfork and an axe and put an end to this suburban farm?  Shit, I don’t own a pitchfork — I live in the suburbs for fuck’s sake.  I’m not getting in a fight or going to jail over a chicken.

I make coffee and hatch a plot.

My grill is just 25 feet from this rooster and whatever gaggle of hens he may be “guarding”.  Instead of steak and burgers, every weekend we are going to be grilling chicken.  Chicken breasts, legs and thighs — shit I’ll even pull off their little wings and cover them in hot sauce right in front of their living cousins — just to remind those bastards who’s in charge.

This restaruant is reading my mind.  Stole the image from here.

Keep screaming your head off at 5 a.m. mother fucker, and you might just be the one sizzling at 5 p.m..

Let’s see if a little grillin’ get keep that rooster chillin’.

11 replies »

  1. This gives cocksucker a whole new meaning. I remember studying for exams all night and hearing a damn rooster one morning. I figured, here I am, away from home, used to the peace and quiet of being under the path of flights to O’hare field, and a damn rooster butts in! Someone had to take action!


  2. I feel your pain. I don’t have roosters here on the upper west side of Manhattan. I just have drunks at 2AM or sirens coming to scrape them off the sidewalk or end their “he said, she said”. They get grilled too, loudly sometimes, by the men in blue. Same $h*t, but these disruptors wouldn’t taste good.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.