When Mahala Attacks

Oh it's going to be a glorious day.

The Amazon is working over in the next town, so that she can train on some new equipment. To get there, she took my truck (the hippy van has been sitting in the front yard with a flat tire for about three months now) which means I'm stuck here at the Asylum for the duration.

I normally go home for lunch, but today that won't be an option. If I hadn't been running late this morning (I can't sleep worth a crap lately) I would have packed a nice healthy lunch to enjoy, but I couldn't seem to get my ass in gear, so my lunch choices will be either delivery from the Grab n' Go (and go and go) or taking my chances with the Wheel O' Death. I'm leaning towards the Wheel, the break room vending machine, at least there are expiration dates on the packages and you have some inkling as to whether you're going to crap yourself silly for the rest of the day.

With the Grab n' Go, it's inevitable that you're gonna go and go and go.

I had also planned to bring my sneakers, hoping to venture out into the woods or up to the graveyard, since I was stuck here anyway, but I neglected to grab them. I'm not sure I should go off galavanting up in the brush in healed clogs. One ill placed step up in the graveyard and one could very easily fall off the mountain, landing on the high fallootin' bed and breakfast below.

I can see it now....

The young couple having brunch, enjoying the understated Victorian style on the huge wrap around porch, listening to the gentle trickle of the creek as it slowly rolls by.. watching the designer hens waddling around the yard, pecking at the organic grain tossed about.. so peaceful.. everything they've dreamed of....

.....when the silence is broken by the horrifed screams of, "OH F*CK! OH SH*T! I'M DEA.."



They look up just in time to see flailing legs, arms and boobs come crashing to the ground, crushing three of the designer fowl, leaving a mixture of chicken guts and feathers peaking out from beneath the gelatinous mass that was once Mahala.

The young couple will be left speechless. When the owners of the B and B come rushing out, horrified about the death of their precious Henrietta, Esther and Lloyd (the prize rooster,) the couple will not be able to relate the horrors they witnessed. The only clues will be a large pair of granny panties hanging from the Catawba tree, a big ol' brassiere draped over the bird feeder and one heeled clog lying on the front seat of their 1972 army Jeep, after having crashed through the windsheild.

It will take the bulk of my life insurance to replace the chickens and to repair the Jeep.

Yeah.. I think I'll just stay inside where it's safe.

For everyone.

Ya'll have a happy Hump Day. Hump it real good.