I'll tell you a story, chilluns, and it even has a moral.
I know I've been slacking lately with posting anything of redeemable original content this week, but I've only got the one final left (due by midnight) and, well, you know, watching Blade Runner in class.
So anyway, to make up for it, I'm going to tell you a story. The one thing you must remember is that this is absolutely true. It happened to my dad's best friend's mom, who we will call Pam.
This is the story of Pam, and the chicken she hit with her car.
First off, let it be established that this was Pam's birthday, and she was already late to meet a friend for dinner. Pam hit this chicken, okay, and killed it instantly, but the thing is she couldn't call this guy a lost cause and drive off because she knew this chicken. This chicken was her neighbor's pet.
And Pam also knew that her neighbor loved this chicken like it was her own kid, right, the lady dressed it up and made it little chicken diapers so it could wander around the house and she'd leave on opera music because it was the chicken's favorite. So when Pam comes to the door and says, "I'm so, so sorry, I didn't see your chicken in time, I'm afraid it's passed away," the neighboor lady bursts into heaving sobs and says, "I just can't--I can't deal with his body, god, can you do it? I just can't handle it."
So Pam says, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."
YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING. YOU DO NOT.
Earlier that day, Pam had been out clothes shopping at--well, here the story gets muddled a bit. Because her son was telling the story, and men know fuck all about clothes, he said it was "like, from Gottschalks or something, some high-end fancy clothing store." Let's say it was actually Gottschalks. You know how they package clothing, right, first you wrap the clothes in tissue paper, and then they put it in a flimsy cardboard box, and then they put that box in a bag. Okay.
So because she's running late, Pam takes her new clothes out and manages to scoop the flattened roadkill chicken into the box, using the tissue paper to sort of push it in place. She puts the box back in the bag and drives like hell across town to meet her friend, but she realizes that it's a really hot day and she doesn't want dead chicken stinking up her car. So when she parks, she rolls the windows down and leaves the bag on the front seat.
Pam runs in and meets her friend, Leslie, at their table by the window, apologizes for being late, but before she can start telling Leslie about the chicken, this fire-engine red sports car drives up and parks next to Pam's car. Two very well-dressed ladies step out, and as Leslie and Pam watch, one of the ladies glances in through Pam's open window, sees the Gottschalks bag, and grabs it.
Leslie's like, "OH MY GOD, THAT WOMAN JUST STOLE YOUR NEW CLOTHES," but Pam goes, "No no no, just wait," and quickly explains about the real contents of that bag.
So the two fancy ladies take a table, not too far from Leslie and Pam. And the lady who didn't steal the bag has to go to the bathroom, which gives the other woman a chance to see what goodies she's managed to nab. So she scootches the Gottschalks bag between her legs under the table--I want to remind you that this is ABSOLUTELY TRUE--and she peeks in the box, brushing aside the tissue paper.
SHE SCREAMS AND FAINTS. Crashes out of her chair, hits the deck, everyone in the restaurant is going OH MY GOD and the waiters all rush to her side, get her back up on her chair, put her head between her legs. WHERE THE BAG IS.
She comes to, sees the chicken, screams and faints again, and now the manager's been called, and she's just fainted twice in five minutes, so they call an ambulance.
And the last Pam ever saw of that chicken, they were wheeling that woman out on a gurney, and some kind soul had put the Gottschalks bag on her chest.
THE END.
Aaaaaand now I'm off to watch Blade Runner. \o/