You know, when that little laughing kookaburra bird broke up with me, I didn't think she really meant it, but she hasn't called me yet, and it's been a day now, so I think she's serious. Maybe I should have tried a little harder to work things out. I know there are plenty of fish in the sea, but how many chicks out there will actually put up with me? Oh, well, at least she said I was hunky before she left. So I got that much. The girl had some sense. I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE DUMPED ME. WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? AS IF SHE COULD GET ANYBODY ELSE. LITTLE KOOKABURRA BIRD, I MADE YOU WHO YOU ARE TODAY. DON'T YOU EVER FORGET THAT. Yes, I realize you were already who you are today when I met you, but this doesn't have to make sense because IT'S MY BLOG. So there.
I swear, you know somebody for a week and then they hit you with something like this. I mean, it was totally unexpected. (Even though she told me she wouldn't put up with philanderin' when she broke up with me that first time.) Not to mention devastating. I mean, who I am going to see tonight? No one, that's who. You know why? Because she broke up with me right before the weekend. How tacky is that? It doesn't even give me time to check on anyone else's availability.
(sigh.)
Maybe I'll go home and read a book or something. No, do you know what? This is crazy. I can't be letting some kooky little bird get the best of me. They don't call me the Barnyard Pimp for nothing. And, yes, little kookaburra bird, if you read this, and you see where I called you kooky back there, two words for ya: I said it. I know that's three words, really, but I'm keeping one of 'em for myself. You know why? Because it's ALL I'VE GOT. YOU HAPPY NOW? IT'S ALL YOU LEFT ME WITH. That and the little packet of mayonnaise. The one you promised we'd get funky with. YOU PROMISED. How could you break a promise like that? Do you know how many times I thought about that?!!!
This is driving me crazy. I need to do something. Get some air. I WISH I COULD FLY I WISH I COULD FLY I WISH I COULD FLY, OH MAN, I WISH I COULD FLY.
What is going on here? I am a full-grown chicken, with roller skates and friends and yet, I am experiencing some odd constriction in the chest area. (Gasp!) Is this what they call an emotion? Does this make me emotional? Is that what the therapist was talking about that day when I was trying to hit on her during couple's counseling? Ohhhhh, I think I get it now. But, why on earth did she say that I needed to open myself up to being more like this? THAT WOMAN WAS CRAZY. WHO ON EARTH WANTS TO FEEL LIKE THIS? MORE OFTEN? WHAT ON EARTH WERE WE PAYING HER FOR?***
Breeeeeeeeathe, chicken. Breathe. This will pass soon. Don't let that little bird get the best of you. You can't let her take you down like this. COME BACK LITTLE BIRD, COME BACK, OH, FOR THE LOVE OF BUG, PLEASE COME BACK! Just don't ever tell anyone I said that. Especially not here on my private blog.
(Speaking of which, does anyone know why a country that appeared in the Stats pages as a visitor some time back would not be included in the list of all-time visitors? Enough work - back to the drama at hand.)
Ewww, what's this? Looks like the little kookaburra bird left some of her expensive make-up in the closet. And some shoes. Hey, what is a bird doing wearing shoes? Well, never-you-mind about that, because the more important question now is:
What should I do with them? Should I tell her? Nawww, that would be too kind. And what did she ever do to deserve a kindness from me? Oh, sure, she washed my dishes and rubbed my wingjoints, but what did she ever do for me, really? And I know they also say that forgiveness is the key to personal freedom, but they were never unceremoniously (though somewhat eloquently) dumped by a kookaburra bird, now were they? Hm? Hm?
Listen, I know I'm going on about this, but I've already been on the phone for three hours today with anyone who would answer just to talk about how I feel and do you know what that's like for someone like me who wants to dress up in a chicken suit and roller skate around the country? Humiliating. That's what.
Burn 'em. That's what I'm gonna do. I am going to burn her fancy shoes and her expensive makeup and then maybe that will help me to be able to forgive her for the agony she put me through. So, if you're reading this, little kookaburra bird, you can come pick up your makeup and your shoes tomorrow. They'll be that little pile of ash by my back porch. Next to the doggy present that one stray keeps leaving there every morning. (I wonder if anybody's taking care of him.) Oh, and by the way, Kooky, you'd better call before you come by, because you know that one friend of yours that you thought I would never have the gall to see? Well, I'm calling her up as soon as I post this, so she just might be here in the morning, is all I'm saying. So, take that.
Your Passive Aggressive,
Chicken
PS - A special note to Skimmers and Those Who Read Ahead, or Backwards: Did anyone notice yet that, down there in the final portion, the tenses don't match? Well, make no mistake - because that's no mistake, Viewers. That's simply one more case of your Working Class Chicken trying to gain some sense of power and control in life.
***Technically, the little kookaburra bird paid for that. Like she paid for almost everything else. Okay, everything else.*
*Has anyone noticed that "technically," in all it's glory and obvious mis-uses, has quickly acquired the coveted position of Sir Big Chicken's Favorite Word? Do you have a favorite word? Then, tell me what it is on Sir Big Chicken's Word of the Day!**
**A note on words: it doesn't have to be a real one. Meaning, you can make one up. Which would, technically, make it real, although not accepted yet by the Authorities on Those Types of Things. You know, the ones who are breathing down your neck and causing so much consternation as you're trying to concentrate on memorizing words that should be fake, like, oh, let's say a word like "philangeal." Words like that one don't even look real to me. More like some strange creature from another time. Maybe it's because I mis-spelled it. Oh! Haha, I did. It's "phalangeal." There. That looks better, doesn't it? Much more believable as far as words go.
(A note on customs: When traveling in cyber-space, it is customary to tip the chicken. thx. Yer "I'm just trying to be helpful," Friend, z'chicken
http://zbigchicken.blogspot.com/p/cyber-chicken-theater-tickets.html )
zbigchicken at gmail dot com
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