Yo yo! It’s that time of the week, yet again. Ja’Crispy’s here.
Yesterday was Valentine’s. Hard day for me as I don’t have a girlfriend. I have several. Either way here I am to let you know what is happening with my chicken, Gertrude.
Last week she got away. I’ve received a letter saying that she had been kidnapped and the ransom was set on a thousand beef bones. This last Saturday, I went to visit my friends at Provenance Village Butcher. They are my pals. They always hook me up with a nice leg of lamb or a nice rib eye steak. When stepped in, I probably had the “my-chicken-Gertrude-was-kidnapped-and-the-ransome-is-a-f*cking-joke” look on my face and they gave me a beef bone. One beef bone. I didn’t ask for more as, come on, they gave me one just based on my looks and I didn’t want to sound desperate. So I need to find another way to get the beef bones.
The kidnappers called yesterday (they probably don’t have girlfriends as we talked for a while on the phone about Mr. T’s sh*t and stuff and the whole GBP /USD exchange rate situation). That was good as it kept my line occupied and my babes couldn’t get a hold of me. I said I wanted to hear my Gertrude again. I wanted to know that she hadn’t become chicken stock or chicken soup by now. They said she was watching a cockfight on TV and she didn’t want to talk. And then it hit me. Did Gertrude do all of this so that she can be my number one babe? But I wanted to listen to her anyway. She clacked like she never clacked before. It suddenly seemed like I was listening to my alarm clock (I have a rooster as an alarm clock, don;t judge; I miss my Gertrude and her morning screaming, sorry, singing; and the humans dig it; not).
Now I know she is fine. Now I know I need to find my one thousand bones. Sorry, nine hundred and ninety-nine. Sorry, one thousand… I ate the beef bone from my pals at Provenance. It was delicious. Succulent and juicy and meaty. I am dreaming of it now. Ja’Crispy, snap out of it. I need to come up with a plan. I need to leave and go on a beef bone hunt. Or I can just call Mr. T. and ask for a loan but I guess he doesn’t store beef bones as currency. He’s more of a sun-tan sessions-hairspray-cans currency kind of dude.
Either way, keep posted for next week’s journey. Where no dog has been before. One small paw for dogs, one huge beef bone for my Gertrude (more like one thousand of them). Need to go and install “Zombies, Run” on my phone. Gotta start running. Over and out.