Cock Fighting (07-05-2012)

The drake looked over at Bubba, chuckling. “Man, I can’t get over how good your hair looks.”

Bubba turned, his smile smeared in a drunken mess across his face. “You’re the jerk that made me cut it. You didn’t have to hold me to the terms of the bet.”

“I warned you about what set of genitals your date had. Don’t bet next time.”

Bubba snorted. “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you’re too much of a chicken to go through with my dare. You’ll…”

A pair of large, humanoid roosters walked toward where they were talking. Bubba felt a bead of sweat roll down his face as the two birds stopped right in front of them.

“S’up, plucks?”

Bubba scratched at the back of his head, refusing to make eye contact. “Just having a talk with my friend here.”

“For real? What’re you boys squawking about?”

The drake looked at the ground, scraping his feet. “Just a bet we have going, that’s all.”

One of the rooster-men leaned against the wall beside Bubba, blocking him in. He was so close that Bubba could smell the stale feed on his breath. “Heard you boys cluckin’ some words that maybe you weren’t supposed to. Follow me?”

Bubba shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

One bird got right up in his face, black eyes a few inches from his own. His beak snapped as he spoke. “You sure? Did I mishear you when you called your friend here a ‘chicken’?”

Bubba felt his head spinning, but not from the alcohol. “I didn’t say that.”

One of the roosters pulled out a portable deep fryer from under his coat, popping off the lid as he pulled the starter. It rumbled to life, the grease bubbling as it began to boil.

“You think we don’t remember the Frying Days? We’re gonna ask you one more time, and be straight with us. Did you…”

Footsteps crunched along the path, Bubba and the drake looking up to see a pair of sheep sauntering around the corner. They could see the dim moonlight glinting off their police badges, and the two of them feeling a wave of relief.

The sheep looked them over, one of them tipping his hat to them. “Now, what are you boyos up to this fine evening? No trouble, I should hope.”

The rooster slipped the deep fryer back under his coat, but not fast enough to avoid the sheep’s gaze. “Got a permit for that, kid?”

“Didn’t know I needed one to make supper, officer.”

The sheep reached for their belts, hands falling on the handles of their frying pans. “Depends on what’s for dinner. I don’t know about you, but me partner and I’ve been dying for a little friend chicken, if you catch my meaning.”

One rooster pulled out his deep fryer, the other a slow cooker, gesturing them at the two sheep. Both sheep drew their frying pans and loaded them with butter, advancing on the birds as the two groups erupted into shouts and screams. Bubba covered his ears against the noise, wrapping one arm around the drake while he backed away. They made it to the mouth of the alley before they heard the hissing and bubbling start up.

Bubba leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “That was nuts. I can’t believe we got away.”

The drake slapped his arm, glaring at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a fowlist, we wouldn’t be in this mess. What have you got against birds, anyway?”

“They’re just not people, all right?”

The drake laughed, but didn’t find it funny. “How can you say stuff like this? We’re in modern times! Chickens can vote and marry. They’ve got every right we do.”

Bubba scowled. “Yeah, and maybe they shouldn’t. All it took was a bunch of bleeding heart dumb bunnies to take our rights from us and give them to the chickens.”

He heard a sound behind him, turning to see a sea of brown and white fur. Long ears twitched as the creatures glared at him, each of the rabbits wielding something sharp.

Bubba started to run, already knowing there was no way he could get away.