Super Chicken: The Lost Episode

Have you ever heard of Super Chicken? Odds are that if you have, you're old. Hell, I just ate some greasy chicken drumsticks right now, and let me tell you, it bothered me the whole time because I just imagined I was eating the corpse of our courageous hero after he lost a heroic battle to, I don't know, his inner demons. My inner demons. Super chicken. Save me from my inner demons. Super Chicken had a sidekick name Fred the Lion who talked like he was a member of an alternate sexuality if you know what I mean and he'd always try to get out of desperate situations. Whenever he wanted out, Henry Cabot Henhouse III aka Super Chicken would remind him with his favorite catchphrase, "You know the job was dangerous when you took it, Fred". If you ask me, that's bullshit and if Fred wasn't a fucking lion and instead had the brains of even a chimpanzee he would've sued the fucking bastard for worker's comp. But the cowardly lion didn't have courage, and neither did Fred the Lion, and Super Chicken got sued by Frank L. Baum for plagiarizing The Wizard of Oz hahaha just kidding I'm so funny fuck you fuck me we all fuck for ice cream sandwiches.
I was using fried chicken grease as lube when the door bell rang. "Come in", I said, not making a pun for my current, y'know, situation, if you think about it. The door swung wide open and it was my best friend, a 45 year old blonde-haired girl scout named Matilda. "Here for the usual", she posited. I covered myself with a steaming hot towel that had been in the drier for several years and grabbed myself an ice cold Ducklite. Life was depressing, but that's O.K. when you do what I do for a living. I'm a high school health teacher and I teach kids about genital warts, gingivitis, and the art of the Super Chicken.
Prior to packing a towel around my manpendage I shaved my pubes and picked up a VHS tape from the bathroom cabinet adjacent to the toilet. The door was ajar despite being a door. The tape was simple. "Super Chicken in: Life's a Bitch and Then You Commit Suicide". Strange. I always thought Super Chicken was a g-rated show, and as the ultimate connoisseur of The Super Chicken, I had thought right. I opened the septic tank and grasped for my trusty sledgehammer and smacked the living fuck shit out of the VHS tape. It exploded into itty bitty pieces. There were shit smears on my face from the explosion, but beggars can't be choosers. I sat down on the couch next to Maddie and started working on my lesson plan for tomorrow.
I scratched my head and stick a finger up my asshole in deep thought. I couldn't keep it in any longer so I took a giant shit on the couch. Then I proferred what was on my mind to Matilda. "Hey, Maddie, would you say that a vas deferns has deference, or...". I couldn't finish my thought. At first I thought it was because I had gone insane, given that I had just taken a massive dump on the couch next to one of my best friends, but no. Matilda... I kid you not...
Her eyes were bloodshit. I mean bloodslit. Bloodshot. Yeah. "Hey, uh, Maddie, I'll, ah, get a s-s-s-sponge.", I stuttered. But it was too late. I got up and... it was to late. I tripped over a bar of soap and went sliding across the floor. I must have accidentally kicked it out while I was smacking up the haunted VHS tape. I fell on my dick and as penises are sensitive I was in excruciating pain. "Call 911!", I yelled at Matilda. "I have pink eye.", she responded, in the middle of addressing her own episode and therefore unwilling to be of genuine insistence to a friend in need. Well, a friend with weed is a friend indeed, and I huffed a bunch of the stuff about 2 hours ago. I went back into the bathroom in search of a second hot towel to stop the bleeding. I don't think a hot towel is good for that though. A cold towel would be worse I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure a cold towel would be worse. Just a regular towel would do.
I reached into the toiletry and pulled out what I thought would be another towel... which made sense, given I had stuck my hand into the towel rack. But no. What I was feeling felt plasticy, with a flimsy, rubbery... substance... oh shit. It was Super Chicken. A Super Chicken VHS tape, that is! I read the title in fear and anxiety as I started shaking like it was the Harlem Shake. "Super Chicken in: Life's a Bitch and Then You Go to Hell for Committing Suicide". Well, this time, the tape appeared to have a moral. I grabbed a second towel and wrapped it around my dick and went back out to watch the tape.
I sat on the couch. "Hey, Maddie, wanna watch a tape?", I asked in cautious excitement. "I have no eyes and I can't see.", Matilda responded to my shock and horror. I let out a scream at what happened next. I saw... I saw her bloodshot eyeballs, laying down on the floor... right next to my cat! If Mr. Fizzlywinkles swallowed it, it could be a potential choking hazard. I screamed again! ... Then I realized those were just rice balls. However, red rice is not healthy for cats (apparently they can eat small traces of brown rice according to Wikipedia) so I got up and picked up the rice balls. Unfortunately, I fell again. This time I tripped on my asshole and got shit smears all over the floor. Frustrated, embarrassed, and depressed, I got back up, but instead of heading back to the lavatory and grabbing a third towel I hooked up the ol' coax cables and got the VCR ready. Popped in the video tape and played it. Popped the fuzzy red rice balls into my mouth and gagged from the bundles of dust bunnies. Shit happens. I didn't die so it was cool.
The usual theme song played out. "When you find yourself in danger, when you're threatened by a stranger, when it looks like you will take a lickin'... buck buck buck buck. There is one thing you should learn, when there is no one else to turn to, caaaalll for Super Satan." Super Satan? Wasn't that supposed to be Super Chicken? I gulped down a dust bunny and continued watching, in terrifying anticipation of what might happen next.
Super Chicken was smoking crack in his penthouse. He was dressed in a fancy tuxedo. "It's my Tennessee Tuxedo", he clucked out to the audience with a wink. "I bought it off a cat." Well O.K. whatever. I reached for some popcorn but then realized I forgot to make any popcorn, so all I did was grab some air. The telephone in Super Chicken's world rang. He answered it. "Hello? Fred's in danger? Why... why I'll be over right away!". He hung up the phone casually and did nothing for 10 minutes. The next 10 minutes was just Super Chicken snorting giant mounds of blow off his desk Scarface style. I was finally getting bored with the tape and went to shut it off, before the monotony suddenly and surprisingly broke up. "Say hello to my Little Friend!", Super Chicken said in a Scarface accent. He reached out an Aston Model 1842, which is a gun, and shot himself in the face. Super Chicken was dead. A fine mix of Raspberry Kool-Aid, cookies and cream flavored cool-whip, and chicken guts flew out of his head as the screen went to static. The fuck was this shit? I got up and smacked the shit out of my CRT TV, and all it did was get more and more staticy and nonsensical. Then there was a clip of some pirate dolls and what appeared to be a skeleton for a few seconds. Then it went back to static.
"Well, I give up.", I announced out loud. Matilda was gone. I realized she was never there. It didn't matter, though. Nothing in life matters at all. I stuck my hand on the pile of brown-greenish goo on the sofa and rubbed it all over one of my cheeks (get it, cheeks) to make myself resemble a scatplay Two Face. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a white-powder laced quarter. "Heads I win, tails I win.", I said. It came up tails. It was a two-tailed quarter, so I rigged it so that I could only win. "Fuck yeah, I'm getting some 7-11."
I forgot to put pants on but I walked out the door and over to the nearest 7-11. The Bangladeshi gentleman behind the register didn't care. He's a good guy, I didn't blame him. He knew me. I came in to peruse the hamburger section, but they were all out so I grabbed myself a chicken sandwich. I paid with my bat credit card. Just fucking kidding, there's no such thing as a bat credit card duhr what the fuck are you that gullible. I walked outside, took a bite... and I suddenly felt queasy. Super queasy. As if my stomach was in revolt. I slobbered all over myself and the sandwich. The last thing I remembered was hitting the sidewalk with a loud thud. My skull had fractured. I had bled out on the crimson pavement. I was dead.
I woke up the next morning in a police interrogation center. A secretary with a backwards Western Governors University baseball cap and Toad the Wet Sprocket branded turtle neck informed me that an ambulance arrived and defibrillated me back to good health. A local farm had dedicated chicken blood and a slab of a rooster's cranium and inserted it into me while I was out colder than Peter Buttgig's presidential ambitions. However, despite my miraculous survival, the fecal face treatment and towel-only torso covering got me in a bit of a boo boo. The police arrived at my apartment to find the long rotted corpse of a 45-year old woman, identified as Mrs. Matilda Scratchnsniff—the wife of the very chicken farmer who had unknowingly saved my life. I was sentenced to an eternity in prison without parole, and all the pigs could think to ask me was 'why, why, why, oink oink, why'?
Fortunately, they gave me a VHS player inside of my cell. I turned it on to watch the remaining segment of the episode. And within it: I found the answer to their very question.
Two doctors ripped apart the corpse of a chicken and a lion, scavenging for parts for organ collection. As the camera panned up and above into the starry night, a sign could be made out, with words that would haunt me for the rest of my seven and a half years of existence:
"Out of the eater came something to eat. Out of the strong came something sweet.
What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?"
Crickets chirped over a lengthy pause, as the credits rolled over the night sky canopy, complete with starry backdrop and the neverending, neverexpanding void of the great unknown.
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