What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Beating the Odds
A few days ago, Connie brought one of her chickens to the house for a rehab assignment. The old girl (the chicken, not Connie) was definitely not feeling well and in need of specialized care. The hen was placed in ICU (Individual Coop Unit) for a few days and returned to the flock.
Unfortunatey, the success rate at Dr. Connie’s Clinic for Ailing and Geriatric Chickens is extremely low. In fact, the clinic is yet to record its first full and complete recovery. We had high hopes this particular hen would beat the odds and write a stirring testimonial on behalf of the clinic and the good doctor.
Alas, t’was not the case. As her health continued to decline, all she was able to provide was a few illegible chicken scratchings.
If this is your first visit to the Friday Flash Fiction Coop, our matriarch, and chief story-whisperer is Henny Penny Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a roost in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Doc, you look exhausted. Here, have a cup of coffee.”
“Thanks.” Tracey pulled the cup close to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled the aroma rising from the scorched java.
“Bad night?”
“Yeah. A passenger train hit a bus. We’ve been swamped for hours.”
“That’s too bad. Win any money?”
“Nah, look at the dry erase board. I only hit one out of twenty.”
“Yeah, it looks like Dr. Case-Uvem really cleaned up.”
“How he can accurately predict before they even get to triage beats me.”
“Face it, Tracey. No one puts on clean underwear before leaving home anymore.”
My mother would be appalled at the results, but relieved to know that the medical community is indeed monitoring the underwear of those arriving at the ER.
69 Comments on “Beating the Odds”
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What's So Funny? 
Dear Dr. Case-Uvem,
As the now fallen-from-grace William Cosby once said, “First you say it, then you do it.” Those accidents are certainly a hit or miss proposition.
I have to ask, does the ailing chicken end up fried or in soup? My son’s MIL raises exotic chickens in Upstate New York and would be horrified that I’d dare ask such a question. The thought of her expression makes me laugh.
Meanwhile I must take leave and go outside to check the sky’s position in cosmos. Wouldn’t want it falling on anyone, would we?
Shalom and Good Cluck,
Henny Penny
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Dear Henny Penny,
According to sources in Moscow, the U.S. sky is set to fall at 8am central time on January 20th. I’m not sure if staying indoors, or even hiding in an underground bunker, will offer any protection from this unnatural disaster.
None of Connie’s chickens are exotic (or erotic–thank goodness), but are supposed to be egg producers. The flock as a whole is a bunch of seniors who have led a pampered lifestyle in a resort-like coop with multiple amenities. Most have made it clear that when their time comes they don’t want to be kept alive by artificial means–even butter garlic marination.
Dr. Ben Case-Uvem
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So… you don’t answer Henny Penny’s question… do ya’all eat ’em when they’re done? 😉
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We don’t eat no sick chickens, Dale.
When I got home last night, I found out the old gal had passed on.
Connie tells me the services will be today.
I’ll be surprised if many of the other hens attend. They appear rather apathetic.
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That poor chicken is welcome at the Kingston Ford Centre, or KFC as we like to call it, a home for destitute chickens everywhere. She doesn’t even have to be in finger licking good condition, because here at the Kingston Ford Centre, we do right by our clients. I’m tellin ya, nobody does chicken like KFC.
Yours sincerely
C. Sanders
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Dear C. Sanders,
Thank you for the thoughtful and generous offer. The poor girl is not destitute, just in poor health. Perhaps drugs, alcohol, or second-hand smoke contributed to her condition. We don’t judge, just try to help.
Tell me more about your 13 secret herbs and spices.
Dr. Case-Uvem
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Dear Dr. Case-Uvem, the secret is in the fact that it’s SECRET!
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What a novel idea. Now, I’m sure the Russians are involved.
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Chicken jokes! Love ’em.
Thanks for the weekly giggle.
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Me too.
I dream of a world where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned.
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*cluckle*
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Both stories made me cackle 😀
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I’m glad they didn’t ruffle your feathers. 🙂
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it was a tragedy and it wasn’t supposed to be funny, but the underwear thing did me in. men hold on to their underwear until it self-destruct. 🙂
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Wear ’em till they rot off–that’s our motto.
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Chickens? Underwear? You are making me laugh – plus the responses are a hoot!
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I always wondered why Mom’s generation was so obsessed with the underwear thing. Now, I know.
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Have to agree with Alicia… don’t know what’s more funny… the chicken story or the treadmark one… 😉
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I don’t make this stuff up.
I just embellish it a little to make it more palatable for the reader.
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This is the more parrotable version?
I am appalled by all these avian atrocities
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Uh huh. Yep. I’m sure!
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For some reason, you two seem skeptical. I’ll see if I can get in touch with Dr. Tracey. She can confirm the clean/dirty underwear ratio in ERs.
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C’mon, we’re supposed to eat these cluckers, even the song says so:
Chick, chick, chick, chick, chicken,
I want one for my tea,
((Psst, funny stuff, Russell, but don’t tell anyone I said so)
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Love the song, C.E. You should record it and add it to your next post.
This may sound a little sick, but we enjoy chicken embryos every morning for breakfast. You don’t have to deal with those nasty feathers or bother with yanking off their heads (though some might consider that the fun part).
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You’ll find the song in the original Latin on the best selling album Pavarotti’s Other Hit.
I like the fact that they are pre-decapitated, but how do you train the embryos to get to your side of the road?
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We put on the Ray Charles version of “Cross the Road, Jack” and they come rolling over.
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“the chicken, not Connie”… that tickled… Absolutely love the humor in your writing.
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I thought I’d better clarify that point in case Connie decided to read this post (occasionally she does). I’m glad you enjoyed it, Maddie’s Mama and hope you stop by and visit every time you’re in the neighborhood.
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Yes, I plan on it!
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I agree with chicken hospice but I’m opposed to assisted chicken suicide. Don’t eat dying chickens and for God’s sake at least start any journey that may result in a terrifying emergency room visit with your best underwear on. Of course after the near death experience no doctor expects that your panties will still be tidy.
Be safe out there,
Stacey In Her Lacy underpairs
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Dear Tracey,
I’m sure you’ve seen them all but I’d almost forgotten this one. About ten years ago our son who lives in California was in an accident. Thankfully he wasn’t badly injured. However they did have to cut off his 100 dollar bill print boxers in the ER.
Shalom,
Henny Penny feeling good all under.
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What a tragedy for your son, Henny. I recommend wearing your “Sunday Undies” when preparing to go out on the highway. You know, the “Holy” ones that have been around since Lassie was a pup. No need risking a new pair to the hands of some scissor-happy ER nurse.
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Talk about getting — “short changed.” Badda-BING!
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Thanks for bringing some medical expertise to the conversation, Doc. You make a good point. If the ER staff doesn’t expect your undies to be tidy–why surprise them with unstained bloomers? All that unnecessary laundry just runs up the water bill.
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Very funny, but the underwear problem is a dilemma. You can’t be sure when the clean stuff’s going to be needed. If you wear clean and then nothing happens, it’s a waste and you’re down one on the clean supply. Eventually you have to go with dirty or, God forbid, wash some.
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Exactly. There’s nothing worse than putting on clean underwear and failing to have a car wreck. If they start to feel crusty, just turn ’em inside-out. You can get a couple more weeks out of ’em before they start to disintegrate.
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Let us all agree that any day that the ER staff doesn’t see your underpairs is a good day. Can I get an Amen?
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Amen. I’m sure it’s no treat for them–except when it comes to winning a bet.
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“Doc, you’ve gotta help me. My brother thinks he’s a chicken.”
“Why haven’t you come and seen me sooner?”
“Because we need the eggs.”
I’m here all week folks.
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My husband thinks he’s a refrigerator. It wouldn’t be so bad, if he didn’t sleep with his mouth open. The little light keeps me awake all night. Don’t forget to try the shrimp on the way out.
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HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
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You guys should be on the stage. I hear there’s one leaving in ten minutes.
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They’re only old if you’ve heard them, right? Three shows a night. 😉
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This woman walks into the psychiatrist’s office and says, “Doctor, I have a terrible problem. My husband like to go into the bathroom, fill the tub half-full of water, gets in with his fishing pole and fishes into the commode.”
The doc says, “Why haven’t you seen me sooner?”
She said, “Because, I’m too busy cleaning fish!”
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The hook! The hook! Where’s the hook! Bring in the puppets!
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Hey, that’s MY line!
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That sounds like my kind of fishing.
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My God, you guys are all chicken-shit crazy… 😦
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And all this time I thought the post was about wearing clean underwear in case you had to go to the emergency room.
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Fish and chicken. NOW I’m hungry.
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As a serious writer I find all this attention to chickens quite disturbing. Disgraceful.
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It’s more of that fake news you keep hearing about. The chickens are simply a distraction to keep you occupied while the Russians manipulate your blog.
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Now I know why the price of vodka went up.
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LOL!
This is just plain silly.
Gambling on patients underwear, guess one needs something to che
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I always wondered why my mother obsessed about the underwear thing. I can just see the doctor checking your underwear first and saying, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We only take patients in clean underpants.”
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LOL!
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I have always wondered how dirty underwear smells if you are cremated in them..
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That’s an odd thing to dwell on, Bjorn. Now, if you can just figure out a way for people to place wagers on the scent you could open your own casino.
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My undies are brown,
But they started off blue.
Got assaulted downtown,
And let go of my poo.
That’s why you don’t see clean underwear in the ER. Mystery solved! You’re welcome. 😉
I’m a vegan, so I’m not touching the chicken debate (except maybe to set the birdie free). 🙂
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Love the poem, Lorna. Maybe you could turn it into a jingle for a Victoria’s Secret commercial.
As for setting the chickens free, can you imagine the traffic problems it would cause with them continually crossing the roads and the ensuing debates on “Why?”
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Your story made me laugh. The comments made me guffaw.
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Thanks, Dawn. The readers are having more fun with these topics than I ever imagined–which is the highest compliment a humor writer could dream of. A hearty laugh is good for the soul.
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Indeed it is! Thanks for enriching our souls every week 🙂
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Aww, what a sweet thing to say. Thank you very much.
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It’s a sad state of affairs that this story and the crazy comments, has me craving fried chicken. While the serve a LOT of schnitzel in Tel Aviv, there is little hope for fried drums or thighs. Alas, I will remain hungry, until I land in DC on Friday… and then, I will be facing two days of lost appetite… or, maybe that’s 4 years. Ugh! Cluck.
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There’s nothing wrong with craving fried chicken. I would love to have a couple of drumsticks and some mashed potatoes and gravy right now too
As for the trip home, be sure and put on clean bloomers before boarding the plane. In the event of a water landing, the sharks go for the smelly underwear first.
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I’ll keep that in mind! :-p
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That’s why you don’t see clean underwear in the ER.
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That’s also why there is so much chicken scratching on the dry erase boards in there. It’s not IV bags they’re monitoring, you know.
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