Upon a Gilded Chicken
- William J. Archer
- Nov 11, 2017
- 3 min read

Ice cream anyone? Didn’t think so. You needed a bumblebee to assist with the chores today didn’t you? It’s ok, I won’t tell. And your left shoe was snickering at the floor all day long. You know what that means? It means no flying for you. That’s what it means. I told you what would happen and yet you chose to eat cold porridge. They don’t do that in space you know. Not any more. It’s all warmy and nicey up there.
We juggled the steak knives from about noon ‘til death. Do us part. Blood everywhere. I think we learned the lesson though. If you give four apples to Jimmy and then Melissa drives a plastic wagon over a cliff, then Gertrude. Haha! That’s how an upside-down cow cries. But we won’t know that until we get some leverage into this pudding’s equity portfolio.
They like cocaine. It makes them nervous. Not naming names here, but Stanley, and Georgie, and Rudolph, and Emile Farquad III. It was a known fact in those days that a new saddle could carry a man through hard times. The box of shells was just to spruce up the house a bit.
I think that tomorrow we will go for lunch with that nice family of bottle-nose best. And Bo knows yo mamma. She is a fine cook. She really is. She smokes ham, post-coitus. Oh you so cray, cray! Down by the bay, bay. I ate some hay, haayyyy, hayyyy. It’s what gay horses say.
We both just sat on the bench that day we learned about his mother. In the rain. Talked for hours and hours about different kinds of rope. Didn’t solve any major world issues but we didn’t feel very hungry afterwards. There was a pub on the sad, soggy stroll home, so we strapped dynamite under our coats for a swim. Floated upon a sea of rapturous despair until they told us it was time. A gentle nod, very subtle, but we knew.
Four kinds of beetles were the cause of the downfall. Pope Ourri II denounced accusations of complicity in the affair. They all knew the truth though. He never received any more dinner invitations to the halls of the Lord after that one. Nice try, Jackass!
Thunder only happens when clouds dance. And you have no pants. Pants. A dog runs. Then pants. First shoes, then pants. My dog chewed my shoes. No dancing for me. Back to the bench.
Hats in hands, they filed past the casket. There were so many tears. I tried to duct-tape all that water in my head but it was of no use. Any of it. Instead, Ted read about the dead hamster and went to bed. Thrice accursed son of a motherless goat! No gold for you, salacious one!
Frankincense and a heart murmur are the bedfellows of Bug. And a river shall divide the city with two names. Lay your money down and gather round to shake hands with a potato named Garth. A little butter with some fried Kung-fu. Delicious. And if you feel guilty about it, we can dig a grave and you can throw up into it. Oh Monty! Your python is so big!
It’s risky business being this puce. It’s a shade too purple, lets add some lamp. Shaky handstands when the bands disembark from a craft called Wynona. She chose it herself. So much strength in that statement. It carries the weight of the world on it’s shoulders. One stone. One. Big. Stone. Round and round and round we went. Flung into a future we never bargained for. Should have. Might have gotten a better deal. When it started, it was not idle any more.
Thrown into a situation they never counted on happening. But it quickly morphed into a very dangerous abacus. And you can count on that when you’re sittin’ at the table. There’ll be plenty of time for counting beans later. So take out your protractors children. Let us all bow our heads and ask them to protract us from ourselves. You will learn how to hurt each other better with a little instruction. Which we can provide for the cost of your souls.
So take the damn ice-cream and sound the funeral bell. Cuz when the last bee dies we shall have a proper wake. A real party as the foliage turns brown and never turns right. Not even with sunshine. Nor a smile and a wish that it could all be re-attempted.
If only we could have made the decisions. But instead, they made vicious incisions, stole the planet and went camping. In hell. With the Teletubbies.