Attack of the Fifty Foot Chicken Little

Once upon a time in a land far far away, there was a chicken who was rather unimaginatively called Chicken Little. It must be said that ‘Little’ was a family name and it was not one she lived up to since she was fifty foot tall. Sadly her brain was the normal size for a chicken so she was unable to enjoy the irony of her name.

One day when Chicken Little was foraging in the forest for carnivorous air-plankton and low-flying sheep to eat, a meteorite slammed through the atmosphere and – CLONK! – smacked her upside the head.

“What the cluck was that?” said Chicken Little. “Holy panda poop, the sky is going to fall! I must go and tell the king!”

Why Chicken Little thought the king should know is neither here nor there. What did she expect the king to do about it? All the king did all day was write, in his spidery handwriting, to various lords and ladies about things that were of no consequence. When he wasn’t doing that, he preferred to spend his time with one or two of his courtesans and a small cat. The ramblings of a giant chicken would be the last thing he would be interested in.

So she waddled along in that strange bobbing way that some chickens have. She went bob-bob-bobbing along through the woods crushing various people and animals beneath her feet. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! she went, causing buildings to collapse, and she went along till she met Cocky Bowelboa.

Cocky was a snake. But don’t hold that against him. Some snakes are quite nice. Cocky Bowelboa was, as his name would suggest, a Boa constrictor. He was one of those nice snakes who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Albino mice, yes. Flies, no.

Chicken Little, sssssso good to ssssssee you,” said Cocky. “May I ask where are you going in ssssssuch a russssh?

“Oh, hello there, Mr Bowelboa, I didn’t see you there, sorry! I’m going to tell our king that the sky’s a-falling,” says Chicken LIttle.

Cocky Bowelboa gave Chicken Little a look that only a reptile, with millennia of ancestral experience of staring at rocks, can give.

Chicken Little goggled at Cocky Bowelboa, her eyes spinning around like tipsy ballerinas. Remember Chicken Little’s brain to skull ratio? This is what saved her brain from dribbling out of her ears. She was the only non-reptile who could survive staring at a snake. She could outstare the sun. See, kids, ignorance is a survival trait!

I hope you won’t find thisssss remisssss but may I come with you?” asked Cocky Bowelboa who clearly had nothing else better to do with his time.

“Of course you can,” says Chicken Little. So Chicken Little and Cocky Bowelboa went to tell the king that the sky was falling.

They went along, and they went along, and they went along, Chicken Little pulping people and animals beneath her feet and Cocky Bowelboa eating any surviving albino mice. They went on in this way – BOOM! Slither… BOOM! Slither… – until they met Sweaty Betty.

Sweaty Betty was a poodle. Imagine collecting the sweat off a sumo wrestler who was now living on the streets. Got that in your mind? Now imagine dipping a poodle in a bucket of the aforementioned wrestler’s sweat three times a day for ten years. Now imagine the poodle after all that and you will have imagined Sweaty Betty.

“Oh, hallo! Where, may I ask, are you going to, Chicken Little and Cocky Bowelboa?” asked Sweaty Betty.

“Hello, Miss Betty, we are going to tell the king the sky is a-falling,” chorused Chicken Little and Cocky Bowelboa.

“May I come with you?” asked Sweaty Betty who clearly could have spent her time doing something more worthwhile but was at a loss to what this worthwhile thing might be.

“Of course you can,” said Chicken Little and Cocky Bowelboa. So Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, and Sweaty Betty all went to tell the king that the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along some more, Chicken Little tumbling buildings and Cocky Bowelboa turning any surviving albino mice into sandwiches and Sweaty Betty looting the tumbled buildings for perfume to hide her musk. They went on in this way – BOOM! Slither… Squelch! BOOM! Slither… Squelch! – until they met Hairy Cary.

Hairy Cary was a boy with a really hairy face. He worked for the carnival as a dog-faced boy. It was a hard life but it had certain perks if you thought of yeti fan mail as a perk…but that is another story and shall be told another time.

“Hi! Where are you lot going to, Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, and Sweaty Betty?” asked Hairy Cary.

“Hello, young Master Cary. Is that a new conditioner? We are going to tell the king that the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little and Cocky Bowelboa and Sweaty Betty.

“Would you mind if I tagged along?” asked Hairy Cary who clearly was an immature youth who wanted to avoid work and who saw this adventure to be a means to an end.

“Need you ask? Of course you can! The more the merrier, eh?” said Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, and Sweaty Betty. So Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty and Hairy Cary all went to tell the king that the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, Chicken Little turning small animals and people into greasy puddles and Cocky Bowelboa placing any surviving albino mice in his lunch-box for later and Sweaty Betty using bleach to turn her fur white and Hairy Cary signing autographs for female yetis who thought he was a bit of a heart-throb. They went on in this way – BOOM! Sliver… Squelch! Hey, babe! BOOM! Sliver… Squelch! Hey, babe! – until they met Craven the Raven.

Craven the Raven was a raven. Yes, shocker, right? Craven was an erudite bird with a level of education that could rattle your intelligence into a state of semi-panic. He was the only raven with a degree. Yes, it was only a degree in wormology but it is more than what you have, kids.

“Where are you all going, Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty and Hairy Cary?” asked Craven the Raven.

“Howdy, Mr Raven! We are all going to tell the king that the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty and Hairy Cary.

“May I come with you, Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty and Hairy Cary?” cawed Craven the Raven, who as a raven, clearly had nothing better to do that eating worms.

“As you wish, Craven the Raven,” said Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty and Hairy Cary.

So Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven. all went to tell the king that the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, Chicken Little wiping out whole villages and Cocky Bowelboa ridding his teeth of albino mice with a toothpick and Sweaty Betty jumping into every sheep dip she saw and Hairy Cary looting the tumbled shops for a comb strong enough for his pelt and Craven the Raven who was merely following behind. They went on in this way – BOOM! Slither… Squelch! Hey, babe! Caw! BOOM! Slither… Squelch! Hey, babe! Caw! –  until they met Calamity Plankton,

Calamity Plankton was the local owner of the haggis mine. He was not a nice plankton at all, oh no! All the denizens of the forest and the surrounding land were scared of Calamity Plankton. There were many dark rumours about him but that is another story and I am far too frightened to even entertain the thought of writing them down here.

Calamity Plankton asked Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven: “Where, perchance, are you going, Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven?”

And Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven said: “Sir Plankton! Oh dear… Um… We are going to tell the king that the sky’s a-falling.”

“Curious… Hmmm, you do realise that you are not travelling in the right direction, right, Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven?” said Calamity Plankton. “As it is, I know the way; shall I, hehhehheh, show it you?”

“Yes, please, Calamity Plankton,” said Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven.

So Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary, Craven the Raven, and Calamity Plankton all went to tell the king that the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, Chicken Little making orphans and Cocky Bowelboa feeling a little ill after eating too many albino mice and Sweaty Betty employing leeches to suck the sweat out of her fur and Hairy Cary having panties thrown at him by yeti groupies and Craven the Raven who was merely following behind with Calamity Plankton riding him side-saddle. They went on in this way – BOOM! Slither… Squelch! Hey, babe! Caw! Hehhehheh! BOOM! Slither… Squelch! Hey, babe! Caw! Hehhehheh! – until they came to the entrance of Calamity Plankton’s haggis mine.

Calamity Plankton said to Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven: “This is a short cut to the king’s palace. It will save you at least an hour if you follow me. I will go first, to make sure the way is safe and you can come after, Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven.”

“We can’t see anything wrong with that. Nope. Seems pretty good to us,” said Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty and Hairy Cary. Craven the Raven said nothing (remember he was educated?).

So Calamity Plankton went into his haggis mine, not going too far into the inky black gloom. He turned round to wait for Chicken Little, Cocky Bowelboa, Sweaty Betty, Hairy Cary and Craven the Raven.

Craven the Raven, despite his doubts, went first into the dark haggis mine. He hadn’t flown far when one of Calamity Plankton’s foremen tossed Craven the Raven into a mine cart and sent him to work in the deep depths. Then Hairy Cary went in, and one of Calamity Plankton’s foremen tossed Hairy Cary into a mine cart and sent him to work in the deep depths as well. Then Sweaty Betty came in, and one of Calamity Plankton’s foremen tossed Sweaty Betty into a mine cart and sent her to work in the mine’s canteen. Then Cocky Bowelboa slithered down into the haggis mine and he hadn’t gone far when “CHOMP! CHOMP!” went the foremen who had got hungry at this point and found snake stuffed with albino mice to be a fine delicacy.

But Calamity Plankton’s foreman had only made two bites of Cocky Bowelboa, and when the first CHOMP! only hurt Cocky Bowelboa, but didn’t kill him, he called out to Chicken Little. But the giant chicken simply turned around and ran home, killing any survivors that had escaped her the first time, so she never warned the king that the sky was a-falling.

And they all lived happily ever after until a meteor shower wiped the forest and the surrounding lands off the map.

THE END

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About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in BekHobbes, fairytale, fiction, humour, shortstory and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Attack of the Fifty Foot Chicken Little

  1. Karen Smith says:

    Fab story, really enjoyed it and it made me laugh. 🙂

    Like

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