[rec.humor.oracle.d] Re: Returning again, and again, and again.... more options
Ken Adams
From: Richard Wilson <Ric...@molerat.demon.co.uk>
Newsgroups: rec.humor.oracle.d
t...@rmi.net "Tom "Tom" Harrington" writes:
> You're, uh, sure that there was a decimal point in the weight? You
> didn't happen to have a 32kg bird, did you?
>
> You know, Turkzilla?
Many a true word, Tom...
<truestory>
A long, long time ago, when women wore granny glasses and Laura Ashley
smocks and men wore flares and sideboards that increased the width of
their heads by about nine inches, I spent the summer at a kibbutz in
Israel, because that's what one did in those days. Three other lads
and myself were one day given the task of transferring 200 chickens
from one shed to another empty one. Shed one was pitch dark inside
and housed about 2000 chickens. We were given two crates which could
hold 10 chickens each so, as the mathematicians amongst you will no
doubt have figured out already, this meant 10 batches of chickens to
be captured and transported.
The first batch was a doddle: the stupid creatures stood around
near the door of the shed, looking perpetually confused in that way
chickens do, and waited for us to pick them up. Second batch, much
the same.
The third batch required a foray deeper into the shed. Here were
chickens that didn't want to get caught - they ran away from us
further into the unknown interior of the shed. We hit on the cunning
plan of fetching two long wooden benches and laying them across the
shed, cutting some 20-30 chickens off from the interior. This worked
up to about batch 6.
Come batch 7, the chickens were vaulting over the benches. These
were bigger than the earlier ones, I fancied, with bulging thigh
muscles and a lean, mean look to their goggly little eyes. This was
also when we registered the first bite: the brutes were starting to
fight back.
Batch 9 was rough. We were forced to arm ourselves with bricks in
order to stun the beggars as they launched themselves at us. It took
around 3/4 of an hour to fill our two crates. We were by now covered
in cuts and scratches, and beginning to feel groggy and shell-shocked.
Batch 10 was a bloodbath. They ambushed us as we came through the
door. One of my companions lost an eye, another two fingers. The third
was reduced to a gibbering wreck and had to be airlifted home for
emergency psychiatric treatment. The rest of us spent over a week in
the infirmary, receiving stitches and blood transfusions. The Israeli
army was called in to transfer the last batch of chickens.
And remember: we'd only had to deal with the wimpiest 10% of the
inhabitants of that shed! God alone knows what horrors lurked in wait
in the inky blackness at the far end. Don Chookleone. The Termirooster.
I still have nightmares about it.
</truestory>
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