Rubber chickens and library cards

10:03 pm Uncategorized

A certain contributer didn’t want the author to disclose who they are as they made their gender evident in the story.  So,  I’m using Bob’s account.

This is a story of a man who owned a rubber chicken factory. The significance of rubber chickens is amazing. The most common type is a comedic prop, but this man had a

factory that cooked rubber chickens for social gatherings. He didn’t quite get that they tasted bad because he got tons of orders for them and never tasted them himself,

being vegan. Nonetheless, the significance of rubber chickens to the author is outstanding. The author once knew a little girl who left her sister’s prop rubber

chicken out on the lawn and consequentially got it accidentally chopped into pieces by a lawn mower. She did keep the head though, after an obsessive compulsive person threw

away the rest of the body when it was lying around on a coffee table. However, she threw it at the base of her holiday tree and lost the head. It is good though that she

thinks that different pieces of the chicken are doing the cha-cha in a landfill. The author cannot be a hypocrite(although she has laughed at these events) because a

similar thing happened to her with her library card.  She did get the pieces back, taped together though. She was more devastated than this rubber chicken girl, as the

number of the card was d011728035.

Anyway, it is quite a coincidence that this man was at a library, and at this exact time, the author could be seen crying because she had given her library card to an evil

librarian who would, in due time, cut up her library card. The man we are talking about’s name is Clarence Vent Cutler. His name was so similar to that of someone the

author knows that the author only wrote this because of the similarity. Clarence wanted to write a book on Jainism, so he was quickly reading every book in the

“spirituality” section whilst spinning his favorite wheel on a children’s game. The wheel’s name was oddly the wheel of monotony.

At about this time, the author was asked why she wanted to keep her library card. She responded that it was because of the number. The librarian was looking for “This is

the last object my friend touched before they died,” or “Obama touched this library card.” The librarian was most likely an Obama supporter for geographical reasons, but the excuse

would probably have worked with McCain too, at the time.

Anyway, at this time Clarence won a free pet-pet paint brush on his children’s site. The problem was: Clarence was way too old to play this Internet game, and from a life

time of being addicted to these games, had many, as he called them, “violent hallucinations.” “Violent hallucinations” here means that he would go to a place of battle in the game with his newly painted

pet-pet and all of the sudden,  foaming at the defiling mouth, start thinking about how he could have had a better life if he had not been addicted to this game. Of course,

these thoughts are silly, because Clarence found no real meaning in life except for owning a rubber chicken factory, pretending to be spiritual, and playing online games.

If he had had some real goal other than this, he would have realised it and succeeded at whatever it was beyond your wildest dreams, just as he did on children’s Internet sites.

At the time, the author was crying. Someone commented that if anything really tragic happened to the author, she would probably just die from sadness. Of course, this is

not true. That’s why the author got the idea to call the number d01-172-8035. This is actually a work of mostly fiction, so please do not try to call this number, as the

author cannot guarantee it is even a valid number. Anyway, in this story it is very obviously Clarence’s number.

“Hello, is this my library card speaking?”

At the time, Clarence was forced out of the library for mobile phone use, and forgot to sign out of the online world. He quickly hung up and signed out.

The author was so sad that they decided to stop slumping in the bathroom stall and go lay under the sinks, as they were leaky and more depressing. Don’t ask why, but

Clarence(the real Clarence) told me that depressing things when you are depressed is a good idea. Somehow this contradicts what I would think, but I’m not too bright.

Clarence’s phone rang once again.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Sniffle.

“Is this my,” sobbing ,”library card?”

“Uh, what’s that? This is Clarence Vent Cutler, owner of Clarence’s Fine Rubber Chickens. How many fine chickens do you want today? Are you interested in our ‘Foul Fowl’ deal?”

“But, but, your number is d011728035?!”

At this time Clarence hung up quickly.

He also changed his number.

The author moved to Mekong with her lesbian girlfriend, and Clarence continued to have horrible hallucinations(which were in fact, not hallucinations but unfounded regrets.) But now

actually starting to become delusional, he had periods where he was convinced he was a library card.

He did write a book, though. And convinced many tormented souls to become more like him and live a regretful life.

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