ULPD: Urban Legend Police Department
(We provide protection for the friend of a friend of a friend.)
1214 W. Hawthorn St.
November 25, 2004 3:45pm
I sat in the customer service waiting room of the MFC Corporation. I helped myself to some complimentary coffee. It was some darn good coffee.
A lady came in to the room. She was dressed in a red business suit and a high cut skirt. Her hair was pulled back tightly to a pony tail. The lady wore thick reflective sunglasses. Her skin was strangely smooth; she looked as though she hasn't smiled in years.
"What can I do for you?" said the lady.
"Good Afternoon, my name is Botany Priest with the ULPD. If you can spare a moment of your time, I'd like to discuss some things with you." I replied. She walked over to the seat across from me and sat down.
"Botany?" said the woman, one eye brow on her mannequin face raised.
"Yes Madam. I'm sorry I didn't catch your name."
"I did not throw it. The name is Ms. Landers. Say what you will, then leave." She said sternly.
"Are you sure you're with public relations?" I joked. She didn't respond; she continued sitting motionless.
"Okay, I came here to discuss a concern with your fast food organization. According to the Grape Vine, Missouri Fried Chicken uses genetically altered chickens in their restaurants. You know what I mean, Mutant super-chickens with bigger breast, more legs and so forth." I stated. Ms. Landers could probably play a mean game of poker, her expression stayed emotionless.
"You're kidding?" she responded.
"I sorry, but I'm not. Urban Legend states you use mutant chickens. Any such 'mutant' chickens are in violation of the Food and Drug Administration Act."
"Mr. Priest, I don't know where you got your information, but I can assure you, your worries are unfounded and your claims are foolish. My father, General Landers, believes in natural, down home ingredients." She said with slight passion, very slight passion.
"I got my information from a very reliable source, ma'am." I retorted. "My cousin knows a friend of a friend who had an uncle who used to be a business partner with your father. He told me weird stories, lady."
"With such concrete information; I'm surprised you bothered talking with me at all. Why didn't you just come in and put the hand cuffs on me?" She replied in a cold and even tone.
"Sarcasm is very unbecoming of you, Madam."
"Mr. Priest, do you understand the stifling inconsistency of such a ridiculous urban legends? Firstly, my company purchases its chicken from a packaging plant, i.e. we have no chicken farming facilities, period. Secondly, my fast food company deals with hundreds of pounds of chicken. Do you understand how much money it would cost to 'genetically engineer' and breed your alleged 'super-chickens'?" She replied mechanically, as if she had answered the same questions many times before. I can't be certain, but I think I was getting under Ms. Landers' skin.
"Yes, I suppose your right. Let's play devil's advocate for a moment. Let's say, at some point, you did have the money to 'genetically engineer' my alleged 'super-chicken'. Theoretically, if your company was able to create a chicken that could reproduce asexually; Hell a chicken like that would pay for itself in no time." I speculated very coyly.
"Cute, very cute. Did you hear this 'theory' of yours, from your nephew's friend's sister's hair-stylist?" she asked dispassionately.
"Nope, I got it straight from the horses mouth; a former assistant of yours, Ed Melbourne."
"He was not my assistant, Mr. Priest. He was an alcoholic that used to loiter outside my business. Perhaps, Mr. Priest, you should run home, and do some actual research before making such wild accusations." She rubbed her hands as if she was no longer going to listen to any thing I had to say. I needed to get her attention back.
"Have you seen Mr. Melbourne lately?" Ms. Landers shook her head. "Maybe your father would know where he is, maybe we should ask him?"
"My Father is dead." She contended. Her lower lip quivered slightly.
"Is he now? I heard you had his body frozen. Now, he's hanging around in a secret underground bunker with Walt Disney."
"Mr. Priest! I must insist that you leave my father out of your diluted flights of fancy!" Ms. Landers stood up and yelled. I finally got Ms. Landers to flinch.
"My father was a decent businessman. Your insane rambles have been mildly diverting, but I must ask you to leave Mr. Priest" She pointed to the door.
"I will, after I've searched the premises, madam."
"On whose authority do you have the right?!" Ms. Landers shrieked.
"My authority." I retorted. We both stood staring at each other. I stared in to the dark portals of her eyes; I was getting a rise out of her.
"I'll report you." She snapped.
"Go ahead, report me. Tell my boss what a good job I'm doing on my case." I said brazenly. I smirked at her. She regained her composure and sat back down. Check and mate.
"Very well, Mr. Priest, search the premises, you won't find anything." She turned back to her statue façade. She threw an employee clearance card on the table. For a person who wanted me to leave; she sure gave me a clearance card quickly.
I walked toward the 'employee only' door. I could feel Ms. Landers' eyes scanning me as I left. As I opened the door to the backrooms, I saw Ms. Landers pull out a cell phone from her inner-coat pocket.
The hallways were blindingly white. It looked more like a hospital than a business. Red sirens were mounted above each door. The doors were white with one glass portal on each; they had mechanized locks on them. The hallway was teaming with people dressed in full body jumpsuits; they looked more like astronauts than businessman. The instant they saw me they froze. They watched me like vultures; I finally got to know what a dead carcass feels like. Their faces were obscured by reflective blast shields. They remained dead silent; their heads followed me in unison as I passed. I was getting suspicious. How can business be so blatantly conspicuous and still have so many undetermined urban legends attached to it?
None of the doors were labeled. I asked a few of the jumpsuit weirdoes, if they knew where I could get information about the company's business endeavors. The Weirdoes looked at each other silently; they all pointed to the end of the hallway. I felt like I was trying to have a conversation with the Blue Man group.
I continued down the hall. At the end of the corridor I saw two massive double doors. A strange looking computer consul stood outside the doors. I walked up and inspected the them; they didn't have any glass portals. I took out my clearance card and slid it in to the computer consul.
The door parted like something out of Star Trek. I walked in to a small passage with another sliding door at the end. The sliding door behind me closed and the ones in front of me swooshed open. Suddenly everything got warm. The room beyond the doors was white like everything else, but there were scratches and dark blotches all over the ground and walls.
I inspected the scratches. There were five consecutive scratches that caught my eye. I placed my hand over the scratches to check the spacing. Just what I expected; they were made by a human hand. It looked as though someone tried to climb the wall.
The room had another even larger sliding door. A control booth was stationed looking in to the room
"These people sure like their futuristic sliding doors." I uttered.
"Nothing but the best, son." Said a mysterious voice with a southern drawl.
"What the heck?" The red siren began to buzz incessantly.
"I say boy; you should have kept your nose clean! Now I can't let you leave son!"
Said the disembodied southern voice.
I looked into the control booth. A well-dressed Texan was speaking in to a microphone. Ms. Landers stood behind him.
"Well if it isn't General Landers!" I yelled. "Did they defrost you for good behavior?"
"I say here, you smart-mouth little riff-raff. You couldn't have just left well enough alone could yah?" General Landers stroked his white beard and adjusted his top hat.
"I'm just doing my job!" I shouted at General Landers. I couldn't believe I used to watch that man hawking chicken on TV.
"So am I boy!" The General pulled a lever on the table.
The huge double doors screeched open slowly. A loud screech resonated from the void. Fog pumped out from the opening. Suddenly a scaly paw stepped forward. I gazed at the claw twitching.
"I like to show you what a man, who graduated from Harvard with a perfect grade, can accomplish. I like to introduce my baby." said the semi-frozen Texan.
A seven foot creature stepped out of the mist. The creature had the head of a chicken and the body of a dinosaur. It flapped its featherless chicken wing violently and squealed loudly. Four pairs of under-developed chicken legs swayed limply from its stomach. I tumbled back. I was confronted with Satan's poultry.
"What's wrong, son? After all your jibber jawing I thought you'd be happy to see my baby." The crazy zombie Texan threw his head back and laughed. Ms. Landers exuded the same personality she usually did.
The chicken lunged at me. I dove off to the side. It continued to peck at me with its massive beak. The wild Cockatrice snapped at my feet. I crawled like a hamster to escape its grasp.
"You forgot one very essential part of your fancy-pants college educated theory, son. My baby don't like grain very much, but he has developed a taste for Hobos. By the way, to answer your question; you'll be seeing Ed soon, in my baby's stomach." The Texan started laughing maniacally again; he seems to enjoy doing that.
I parried the chicken's gnarled face; I tried to hide under the monster. The chicken's shrimp-like legs hanging off its stomach started to scrape my scalp. The blood ran in to my eyes. The 'baby' sprang backward and kicked in the lower lumbar. I felt like my spine was folded in half, backward. I hit the ground and spat up more blood. I curled away from the monster; I pulled myself into a fetal position. I grabbed my ankle.
"Now baby don't play with your food. Eat him! Eat him now!" shouted General Landers.
"Hey, General! How do you like your chicken, original recipe or extra crispy?" I yelled toward the General. That is why I don't have a sidekick; I always say some kind of corny hero quip, it's embarrassing. I pulled my derringer out of my ankle holster. I busted three caps in to the mutated freak's head. The freak fell to the ground in mid-gallop and slid to a stop at my feet.
"General! I hope this thing doesn't end up on the menu." I said dashingly. I got my machismo back.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" yelled the General over the inter-com.
The General took his hand off the microphone. General Landers turned his rage to his daughter. I couldn't hear their conversation, but the general looked furious beyond the point of sanity. My lip reading skills are rusty, but I think the conversation went something like this:
"WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU TAKE THAT GUN FROM HIM?!" he said
"With all due respect, I felt there was no reason to assume he was armed" she said. That is my ace in the hole; no one ever thinks I'm packing heat.
All of a sudden, the General pulled out his dueling pistol and shot Ms. Landers in the forehead. She fell down. I unloaded my last three bullets to break the glass to the control booth. I climbed over the remaining glass fractures, over the control table and jump to the floor. I raced to the hall, but the General was nowhere in sight; for a chubby frost bitten corpse, he sure could run.
I knelt down to Ms. Landers. I checked her pulse. She was gone. She was still wearing her glasses. I took them off.
"Whoa. No wonder you wore these." Underneath the Ms. Lander's shades were large round bugged out chicken eyes.
I placed a call to Grape Vine Headquarters. Within an hour, the ULPD cleanup and research divisions were on the scene. The patrol found the mutant chicken's nest and destroyed all but one egg; it was taken back for research. I gave my supervisor the whole account of what transpired. He said it sounded like a walk in the park, I told him to shut his cake hole. MFC restaurants all over the country side have been closing. As far as I know the General is still at large.
Urban Legend: Missouri Fried Chicken creates mutant multi-legged chickens to serve in their restaurants.
Status: False. Missouri Fried Chicken created only one mutant multi-legged chicken; it reproduces asexually to supply their restaurants.
Urban Legend: The Founder of Missouri Fried Chicken, General George Thaddeus Landers, is cryogenically frozen in a secret underground bunker with Walt Disney.
Status: False. General Landers is defrosted and crazier than ever. His whereabouts are unknown. Walt Disney is cryogenically frozen under Disney Land, California.
Urban Legend: The Government supports a law enforcement organization that polices and investigates Urban Legends.