Squawk on the Wild Side – Spyke & Mike
Holy crap my BTR friends, it’s still hotter than donut grease at a fat man’s convention! When Mike makes me poop and it hits the sidewalk in the sun, those turds just sizzle like carnival elephant ears!
September used to be the start of cooler weather, but I don’t think Mother Nature sees it that way. Undoubtedly for the past decade, she’s been disregarding the Labor Day weekend/end-of-summer ritual by staying on an extra-long vacation in Hades.
Of course some are blaming the exceptionally hot days and global warming on the release of greenhouse gases and raising the sea level. Mike just tells me humans eat way too much beef and dairy causing an overabundance of cow farts. He turns and says, “Chick-fil-A billboards have got it all wrong. We need to eat more barnyard fowls, your wild cousins and their next of kin. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Spyke. Cherry and I have your back. Your feathered butt is safe with us. But only until the time comes when Armageddon takes over and everyone turns into a zombie, chasing after you with a bottle of barbecue sauce in one hand and tongs in the other. After that, you’re on your own.”
I cackle, “Dude, if that does happen, I’m afraid you two are going to form a group of zombie BBQ chicken enthusiasts. I could just picture you wearing a blue and gold headdress while being a grand poobah of the ‘Cue clucks clan. Cherry would be sporting a chef’s hat representing the head grillmaster and keeping the rotisserie spinning like a top with extra hot coals underneath of it. Then you two would probably get the R&B funk tribute band, Earth Wind & Fryer, to play at my roasting. Until that happens, y’all just gotta keep your wits about ya and remember I’m nothing but paltry poultry, skin and a beak, a mere morsel of cock-a-doodle-do and a chicken wing with a tiny little thing.”
Mike laughs and says, “It’s all good, Feather Locklear. You’re too cute to cook. You do have me wondering about one of your wildfowl cousins that randomly appears in the backyard. Have you been on the computer going to that dating site birdsforsex.com and giving out your address again? Don’t you remember what happened to the last one who clucked on you? It was right about Thanksgiving and that sawbill saved me a trip to the store. He was a bit tiny and you did have your wings up for him but I must say, he was mighty tasty!”
I chirp, “Dude, don’t remind me. I spent days wooing that rooster to my coop only to have you dress him up and take him out for his final ride on the Fat Bird. Anyways, I must squawk and give you credit, he did look awfully nice with those booties on and carrots in his cups. You really are a good daddy but that taught me a lesson not to lure home any of my boyfriend’s ever again.”
Then Mike babbled, “Well, that’s what good daddy’s do, look out for their middle-aged misbehaving misfit of a macaw. Sometimes I wish you didn’t know how to use the computer and didn’t type stories for Born To Ride. My life would be so much simpler with a bird that only crosses the road for one reason.”
I shriek, “Do you really think you’ve got me figured out? You allow me to be free range but do you believe that I only cross the road to block traffic? Because I’m poultry in motion? I really am NOT a chicken? I just wanted to see a chicken strip at KFC? Well, you’re right. I’m all that and more! But really Mike, to my flock of close friends and to those that just see me out there, let it be known that I’m willing to go where no clucker has gone before, ride anything with two, three or four wheels and hang out with the broadest spectrum of humans. From upper echelon to the lowest of lowlifes, including you.”
“So come on over and pick me up,” I squawk. “I’m ready to ride the Fat Bird again and the good doctor says you are too! Let’s get my wings in the wind, your knees in the breeze and it’s two wheels rolling down the road. Now’s the time for the Fat Bird 3 to fly!”
Mike says, “I must admit you are queen of the coop and I’m ready to ride but, that’s a story for another month.”