Summer of the Singing Chicken Breasts: Part 1

NOTE: Despite the recent afraidness of my readers (of which there appears to be only one reader), I have decided to go ahead and post my Chicken Breast stories, of which I am quite proud of. I will warn you though, these stories are not for those that happen to be freaked out by insanity. Which is most people.... MWA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!! Anyway, here is part one, written by me last year in the very heart of the Craver Middle School library (and witnessed by Trevor):

Bob ran down the road towards home. He was finally free. No more school for three months. He burst through the door and turned on the TV. Bob loved is sixty-four inch plasma television so much that he named it Jane. He was a sophomore at Baker High, (one of the most prestigious schools in the state of Montana) and he had taken Jane with him to prom that year. Thanks to Jane he had failed every class that year, so his parents decided that they would home school him his junior year. Bob was happy about this arrangement because his parents both worked and trusted him to do his lessons on his own; he was free to spend time with his lovely Jane.

One day during the summer, while Bob was watching Jane, a commercial for Quizno’s Subs came on. There was a white fuzzy thing holding a microphone, and a brown fuzzy thing was standing next to it with a guitar. Ben couldn’t figure out what the fuzzy things were at first, but then he decided that the white one was a chicken breast with feathers and the other one was a rotting, half-eaten chicken breast with feathers. He then realized that they both had eyes and really large teeth. Then the one with the guitar started playing a catchy tune, and the one with the microphone started singing (in a raspy voice, almost screaming) the following song:

"We love the subs!! Cause they are good to us!! We love the subs!! They are tasty , they are crunchy, they are warm, because they toast them!! THEY GOT A PEPPER BAR!!! THE QUIZNO’S SUBS!!"

After Bob saw that commercial, he became obsessed with those ugly, singing chicken breasts with feathers. He literally went crazy, and became a raving maniac with a lisp. One night his mom was making chicken for dinner, and one of the chicken breasts grew feathers and started talking to Bob. It said,

"Do you like Quizno’s?" Bob was speechless. He tried to respond, but he didn’t respond quick enough, so the chicken breast said,

"I HATE QUIZNO’S!!! I have to make a fool of myself daily, singing that song. It’s annoying!! In fact, I know a perfect song to describe my feelings." A rotting chicken breast jumped out of the trash can and started playing his guitar, and the chicken breast on the stove began singing,
"Oh my word, that tune is annoying. Yes I know, it’s really annoying. I can’t get that song out of my head. Make it stop, that tune is annoying, and I gotta go to work in the morning, and I’ll just end up humming in my bed." Bob fainted.

A few minutes later, Bob woke up in his bed. His mom walked in and felt his forehead. "Are you okay?" she asked, in a very high pitched, cutesy, annoying tone of voice. His eyes got wide, and he jumped out of bed, breathing heavily, almost wheezing.

"Dinner is on the table; we’re having chicken." Bob squealed like a little girl, ran downstairs, and bit the singing chicken breast. It screamed, and feathers were all over the room. It then proceeded to bite his arm off. His mom ran downstairs and screamed, "What is going on!? Why is there a chicken breast AND YOUR BLOODY ARM ON THE FLOOR?! WHY ARE YOU FOAMING AT THE MOUTH!?!?!" Bob fainted. Again.

Bob woke up in the mental hospital. The nurse told him where he was, and he started laughing uncontrollably. Alea Mansfield walked into the room and started singing, "Happy birthday, Mr. President!!" Then she left and said, "Goodbye everyone, I LOVE YOU!!" Then the white chicken breast limped into the room, and said, "What is Alea doing in Montana?" Bob’s eyes got wide and he started foaming at the mouth again, so the nurse drugged him with a sedative and he calmed down long enough to have an intelligent conversation with the chicken breast. It said,
"Why did you try to kill me last night?" Bob drooled. "Yes, I understand," said the chicken breast. It handed him his arm. He smacked himself with it. The chicken breast understood this; this was the native language of his people, the reason why his teeth were crooked. He smacked himself, and thirty other chicken breasts walked into the room, carrying what looked like a baby orc. They bowed to the orc, and said,

"All hail the king!! Cork the orc!!" Cork then said, "We need your help, Bob. I am getting too old to protect my people. I need you to protect them for me, so that when I die, the world will be at peace. My world, that is."

Bob smacked himself and grunted an acceptance to the job. Bob had done a great deal of research on chicken breasts, and found that they all worshiped one king, who would always be an orc. The vicious orc would protect the vulnerable chicken breasts; the only problem was that when the orc aged, it would shrink, and would have to turn a human into an orc to take it’s place. Cork hopped up onto the bed, and turned Bob into an orc. To Be Continued...