"WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE GET A HOLD OF THAT INSANE CHICKEN!"
"We're tryin' sir, but she just won't stop pecking!"
I sat there, watching the scene unfold with growing amusement.
"Right, then. It's off to the I.F.C.I.B.A for you!"
The ifciba? What the hell's an ifciba? I wondered to myself.
As I was pondering this, I was grabbed and put into a bag! The bag was dark, so I assumed it was night and went to sleep without any fuss. TRICKERY! It wasn't night at all! I had been deceived!
I suppose you would like to know how someone could possibly be so stupid as to assume that just because it was dark, it was night. It's actually quite an acceptable thing for me to think, for you see, I am a chicken.
A criminally insane chicken, according to Dr. Twoodle, the renowned poultry physiatrist. Well, poofy poo to him! That's rather funny! I think I shall screech it at the top of my little chicken-y lungs!
"POOFY POO! POOFY POO! POOFY POO!"
Ahhh! Some of Twoodle's henchmen (the 'doctors'. Doctors?! Pa Foowey! I know the truth!) have come rushing towards me with a syringe full of sedative! Well they won't get me! I'd sooner dress up as a giant lump of cheese and go swimming in a vat of maple syrup infested with ill-tempered rodents that let them sedate m... Oooh! Look at the pretty colours! Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!
(Author's note: Chicken has been drugged and gone temporarily mad. Will cut back to chicken as soon as it has recovered.)
I'm back again. Sorry about that. Sedative always does that to me.
Where was I? Oh, yes. I am a chicken and my name is Gretchen. I live in the I.F.C.I.B.A - the Institute for Criminally Insane Barnyard Animals.
It's a horrible place! There's the daily meds, the chicken feed that tastes like plastic, the 'group bonding activities' and worst of all, the visits to the shrinks. You try saying "Dr Twoodle" with a chicken's beak!
I share a room (read cell) with Beatrice, the pathological liar. She's a cow. We've got a few of them in here. Terribly unstable, bovines are.
I, on the other hand, am unique. I am the only pyromaniac chicken in the entire hospital! That could have something to do with the fact that not many chickens can get their hands (wings) on a flamethrower, but I like to think otherwise.
Well, after my little incident with the 'poofy poo' I have yet another meeting with Dr Twoodle scheduled. Oh the unimaginable joys.
So here I am, lying on a couch being shown inkblots. Joy.
I mean, how much can you possibly tell about someone by showing him or her a few blobby stains on cardboard?!
Bugger all, in my opinion.
"Now Gretchen, what do you see?" asked Dr. Twoodle in that infuriating slow way that shrinks have that sounds as if they're explaining to a two year old.
"Inkblots." I replied, sulking.
Twoodle exhaled heavily, removed his glasses and rubbed his temples.
"I do wish you'd cooperate." He sighed.
"I do wish you'd leave me alone!" I retaliated stubbornly.
"I'm sensing negative energy here."
"No shit, Sherlock!"
"I think we should continue this session when you're feeling a little more like communicating!" he said.
As if! I'm a chicken! We're anti social creatures! We're the recluses of the barnyard!
We vant to be alone! I think you get the picture.
When I got back to my room (cell) Beatrice informed me that she had just become the first cow ever to be crowned Queen of Brazil.
I managed to resist the urge to club her to death with her own bell at this utterly stupid comment and instead contented myself with telling her to meet me in the lounge after lights out tonight and bring everyone else.
I was starting a rebellion!
That night, we all gathered in the lounge and I told them of my secret plan to break out.
"We criminally insane barnyard animals are being oppressed!" I yelled trying to capture their attention from the start.
"We're fed horrible grain, sent to shrinks and watched 24/7! Well, I won't stand for it! I say we break out and show the world that humans are no match for barnyard animals! Who's with me?!" I roared.
My passionate and fiery speech was met with an awkward silence.
I spent the next hour and a half trying to convince them that we could do much better for ourselves in the outside world, but in vain!
In the end my team consisted of me, Beatrice, Edmund the obsessive compulsive pig, Hubert the schizophrenic horse and Clover, a calf who is out for revenge on all humans ever since her mother came down with foot and mouth.
Together we are... GEBCH! (It stands for Gretchen, Edmund, Beatrice, Clover and Hubert)
I wanted us to be named Chickens of the Revolution, but the others refused on the grounds that I am the only chicken in the group except for, on occasions, Hubert.
We were just discussing ideas for escape when along came on of the doctors, out for a midnight fridge raid.
Thankfully, he had the intellect of a mouldy banana, and didn't notice us.
We slowly crept back to our rooms and agreed to discuss it tomorrow.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, Beatrice said to me;
"You know, I expect I'll be quite useful in this breakout."
I stifled a snigger.
"I fought in the First World War, you know! Only it wasn't really fought in places like Turkey. It was fought in The Great Red Spot on Jupiter. Quite windy there."
I decided to ignore the ramblings of the insane bovine next to me and went to sleep.
GEBCH met the next morning during arts and crafts. The doctors say it's good to get our creative juices flowing. Yeah, right. They just want free Popsicle people! See, I'm onto them!!!
Anyway, I saw Hubert and Edmund over by the cotton balls, waiting for a nurse to give them their Popsicle sticks.
I sauntered over to them (as best as a chicken can be expected to saunter, anyway) and signalled for Clover and Beatrice to follow me.
"So, how are we all today?" I asked them, as we started out meeting.
Everyone except Hubert murmured 'good'
"Hubert?" I asked when he didn't respond.
"Hubert!"
"What?! Who?! I know of no Hubert!" He cried, rather loudly
"I am Lord Pimfrey-Pomfery of Hamilton Manor and I will not be spoken to in such a tone!" He continued in a very bad upper class British accent.
"Huh?" Clover asked, bewildered.
"He's schizophrenic. Remember?" I informed the ignorant bovine.
"Oh yeah!"
I tried to continue leading the meeting as best as I could, but it was rather disconcerting having Hubert sitting there with an expression on his face like that of a constipated elephant and muttering about it being 'Ghastly! Absolutely ghastly!'
"Um, perhaps we should continue this meeting when Lord Pimfrey-Pomfery is feeling a little less..." I searched for a word.
"Insane."
"Too right! You people are upsetting me! I shall have to go and stand in the tea chest!" Hollered Hubert and set off to do just that.
So we all went back to making tea cosies. I was having considerable difficulty with mine, probably caused by the fact that I have no hands, but most animals here would be having that problem.
To reassure myself that I was not alone in having a tea cosy that looked as if it had been trampled by a mad raging hippo, I glanced over at Edmund's. It was bloody perfect! But then, Edmund is a perfectionist who was brought up in a rich, snobby family of pigs. He has obsessive-compulsive disorder and has to wash his trotters constantly for the fear of looking dirty.
To calm myself down, I looked over at Clover's. It was perfect too! Aaarghhh!
Well, who wants a bloody tea cosy anyway! I'm a chicken. What would I do with one? Humph.
I threw down my knitting needles in disgust.
Unfortunately, one of the orderlies took this as a sign of violence and sent me to my room.
So, on my bed I sat, plotting our escape from this horrendous place.
Slowly, bit by bit, a plan started to form in my head.
To start with, I would have to find out what the doctors thought of each of us, and that involved breaking into the files. I rubbed my wings together in glee and cackled evilly. Sadly, no one heard my murderous cackle, and if they had they would have just thought that I was clucking.
I hate being a chicken!
It's different to other poultry. See, people are afraid of geese because they're vicious and bite. If a chicken tried to bite, we'd hardly leave a mark! And people think that ducks are all cute and cuddly, so everyone loves them. When did you last hear someone say 'Oh, look at that chicken! How adorable!' Never!
Alright, I've vented now.
So I gathered up the equipment that I'd need for breaking through the highly advanced security system that was the filing cabinet in Twoodle's office and slowly, lurking in the shadows, made my way there. Twoodle was out today visiting a duck who was convinced that she was the messiah, so I didn't need to worry about being found.
I opened the door and walked over to the filing cabinet and opened it as quietly as possible. I flicked through until I found what I was looking for.
I grabbed the assorted files and ran back to my room. I found the other members of GEBCH waiting for me there.