This morning I watched a really cute video of children explaining the events that happened in Bethlehem over two thousand years ago. When questioned about the animals in the stable they listed cows, sheep, goats, donkeys, horses, oxen, and the strong smell of manure. Not a single child mentioned chickens. Nor do I see poultry represented in standard nativity sets at Walmart.
This serious omission on the part of historians makes me cry, “Fowl.” I don’t know if Luke intentionally left chickens out of the birth of Christ story, or if it was simply an oversight on his part. In either case, it’s a sure bet he will never be elected to the Poultry Federation Hall of Fame.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Mother Hen who sits at a computer and pecks out our weekly photo prompt is Chanticleer Bantam Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“What is that, Professor Niggard?”
“The most dangerous insect on the face of the earth.”
“Really? Is it poisonous? Can it kill humans?”
“The bite is usually not fatal. But once bitten, the victim tends to suffer through long periods of financial instability, accumulate huge debt, and resort to compulsive behaviors beyond their control.”
“That sounds awful. Is the bite painful?”
“No. In fact most victims don’t even realize they been bitten until about a month later.”
“Can it happen to anyone?”
“Yes, but most victims are women.”
“And what do they call this insect?”
“Spendicus monēta. The shopping bug.”
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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