Unable to communicate with the piece of chicken, the California National Guard contact me, apparently, because I'm able to speak to fried chicken. So, I'm covered up in bullet-proof vests and protective gear, and dropped off by helicopter in the path of the fried chicken. There's plenty of snipers far away with their crosshairs settled on the midsection of the enormous food mass, and from what little I was told, nearly a hundred SWAT people in vans just over a hill not too far off. Sure enough, the ten foot tall piece of fried chicken comes walking my way, yet despite its size, I can't hear or feel a single footfall. For whatever reason, it recognizes me, and we begin to talk. While we're talking, a hail of tranquilizer darts rain in, and disable the piece of chicken. It's quickly evacuated via a very secure cable harness attached to the underside of a helicopter, and taken to a base somewhere, where it is then put into a Bacta Tank (you have to know Star Wars to know what that is). While in the Bacta Tank, I'm told to question it about its purposes by the federal agents that gave me all the bullet proof stuff. As I'm asking it things, a droid (again, watch Star Wars), places that weird, white piece of plastic against the side of the tank that woke up Luke Skywalker, but this time around, every time the plastic touches the outside of the tank, it seems to hurt the chicken. And on and on it goes. I'm asking the ten foot tall piece of fried chicken questions, while the federal agent droid administers pain. The end. |
