Death of an Icon

Did you ever notice how radio stations synchronize their commercials? This morning, while attempting to listen to music, I ran through all six pre-set stations on the car radio only to be bombarded by one ad after another.

The same holds true on television. I can enjoy relief from constipation on one channel, flip to a remedy for diarrhea on another, and complete my tour of the lower track by clicking the remote and landing on an ultra-soft cloud of Quilted Northern bath tissue. After all, no job is truly finished until the paperwork is done.

If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the spokesperson for our product, who squeezes every story to ensure 100 word softness, is Charlotte Whipple Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to take a stab at this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.

copyright - Luther Siler
copyright – Luther Siler

America lost another super hero this week when the body of Henry Cabot Henhouse III, affectionately known as Super Chicken, was discovered in his Boston penthouse.

Authorities are ruling out fowl play*, but have ordered an autopsy to determine the exact cause of death.

“He was fond of the ‘Super Sauce,’” said archenemy, Salvador Rag Dolly. “He couldn’t chase down a June bug without sticking his beak in that damn martini glass.”

“Henry was a brave bird,” recalled butler/sidekick, Fred. “There were only three things he truly feared, Avian flu, Coccidiosis, and Colonel Sanders.”


*not a typo, just an ugly pun


47 thoughts on “Death of an Icon

  1. Dear Fred,

    The death of an icon is always hard to digest. Finely feathered tail of woe. My condolences to the Henhouse family. I’ve heard that Henry was a good egg.
    As always, don’t squeeze the…




  2. Sorry to hear that the sky fell on Chicken Little.
    He should have ducked, instead of swanning about.
    Sorry turkeyp on about this, Russell, but I goose you’ll have a few bad puns of your own.
    I’ll go sling my hook now.


  3. Damn you Russell I have now spent the past hour on YouTube looking at previous episodes of Super Chicken. The cry in the sky is echoing in my ears. Any more episodes and I am getting eggzema.


  4. Not the death of Super Chicken! I’m not sure I can sleep tonight, Russell. On the bright side, he won’t have to worry about Colonel Sanders any longer. That would be frightful to have that burden. Poor birdy.


  5. Colonel Sanders? He’s been dead since you and I were children. Henry is really behind the times. (Gee we both named our protagonists “Henry”; great minds drink alike.) I remember seeing the actual Colonel on Dick Cavett back then, sandwiched between Dr. Benjamin Spock and Robert Klein. He wasn’t that funny.


    1. The rest of the Fictioneers might say, “Sick minds flip alike,” but everyone knows all comic geniuses have one foot on a banana peel and the other in a bucket of sludge.

      I don’t suppose the Colonel gave any indication of the secret herbs & spices? I have a feeling some of those could have gotten him arrested.


  6. I have to admit I don’t remember Super Chicken either, but it isn’t because I’m too young. One misses so much in life by flicking channels. Are you sure he was found “in” the penthouse and not “in front of it.” He looks like someone pushed him off the balcony. Maybe he fell when trying to escape from Col. Sanders and there was a coverup. It might have been fowl play after all. Hilarious, Russell. 😀 — Suzanne


  7. I’ve been behind all week, Russell, but couldn’t wait to see where you’d go with this… that was THE first thing I thought when I saw the photo: Ahhh, Russell will love this! You don’t disappoint! Fowl play indeed! 🙂


    1. There’s a reason they don’t call it Friday Flash Non-Fiction, you know. One commenter did say that the story inspired them to watch several episodes of Super Chicken on YouTube.


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