It is bad enough that there are some issue with me and poultry, on the lower scale it has been one of my main sources of meat throughout my whole life. I have been a huge fan of the cooked winged species; it’s something deep inside me, a dark corner of my existence that revels in the pleasure of watching my fallen enemy battered in his young and then lowered down in to a large vat of oil and fried to my delight. For a moment , I feel like a supreme villain, finally getting my revenge on Bond.
It is my understanding that there was nothing more pleasing then the demise of all of Tyson’s army. I can pick up a fried chicken between my fingers and mentally tell it to run. When I am at Six Flags there is nothing that curls my lips more to smile then the smoked turkey legs. Part of me will always smile when it comes to the destruction of the fowl.
Little did I know, the Zombie Rooster was going to take care of us once more. It’s plan was so cunning that even his adventure of destruction in my childhood could not be compared to this one single moment. Ulysses S. Grant, you would have been proud of this Roosters tactics, straight out explicit chemical warfare. Though this does not take place until years later.
My father and the rest of us were unsuspecting of this plot against us. It was a war that could of gone off at any one of us, given any free amount of time. But the time bomb was set, and my father was the unsuspecting victim. The rest of us were forced to follow and witness this in a horror that would forever make us hate certain items sold. There is no doubt in my heart that the rooster was responsible for this perfection set up. I am sure if I looked up the exact date and time this would have been close to the anniversary of its death.
My revenge… oh the carnage.
It may have been a coincidence, it may have been just a special moment but there was a something strange about that evening. The omnibus glow about the moon should have been a key sign. The rolling of the single plastic bag in the parking lot like a tumbleweed could have given us a fair warning that a show down was about to begin. It all began when my father had come to pick us up in the 1957 Chevy that had been spray painted with a very dull cheap spray paint so it looked like the car was running on ice cream. The car looked fake, as if someone had made it from cotton white; there was no sheen to it what so ever. The car had two seat belts but was a box of strong steel anything that touched it was going to crush against the good old American Muscle; the ‘57 could be used as missile if someone really wanted to. That someone was not my father, he drives like me five miles below the speed limit. Good driving citizens we have no reason to want to be pulled over ever.
We were to head to his house; normally we have this tradition we drive in to Sullivan and we hit Flying Jays, this is a key clue to knowing if dad was paid by the people who hire him for taxidermy. This was one of the moments he was not paid that much and work was slow. Wal-Mart HO! Super Center awaits us, upon the back of battle Chevy we drive the long distance and get in to the parking lot, my brother and I immediately know it’s another weekend of dad singing behind a deer head and me and him on a couch with the filled cabinets of VHS movies and head cleaner mileage.
This time however there was something dark, and mysterious there were crows out and I’m sure pigeons too were gathering about murder Tyson. The rumor was spread among the rest of the fowl nation and they had come to a decision. It seemed there was more than normal, or maybe it is just my imagination but they were gathering like the weird beginning of a Hitchcock Film.
Brian, a pen pal and long distant friend had a radar when I was in town, but actually he was probably my longest known friend that I spent the least amount of time with. I saw him for maybe 30 seconds before my father would weird out about whatever offspring’s he could picture us having, he was a nice guy who went at his own pace and he was always sweet, the part that worried my father was the massive amounts of hair on his arms and legs. To me it was normal and thankfully for hair you could treat that, but this was beyond the comprehension of my father. Dad was mean… very mean to Brian.
You are still my friend Brian and I am sorry…
So if you can ignore the odd insane way my dad was about Brian we can get along with the story. We traveled to the back left of the super Wal-Mart where all your dreams of ICEE, hot dogs and Rotisserie Chicken was located. We went through getting the thing we traditionally bought: two chickens, some chips, two ICEEs along with one Pepsi. We sat and began the family feast of and discussed what we had done since the last time we were here. Dad went to eating his chicken and this is where things went dark. It’s odd but I don’t remember anything being said, the graphics and mental play back was nothing in comparison to what was going on. By the time we had all finished little did we know there was a battle waging war in the stomach of my father. Where I love my peppers, black pepper, green, jalapeno, white pepper, wasabe and so on, my was the opposite. I am not sure what it was within him, whether it was an allergy, or perhaps it was an ulcer but the man could not handle pepper, even to the lowest of grades of simple black pepper. He was from a world of Lawry’s Garlic Salt with Parsley which is still today the world’s best Garlic Salt. (Trust me it is amazing.)
This must have been compared to the Battle of the Roses, where every time you turned around there was another over throw of a monarch and it goes on and on.
We had just gone down one of the isle, looking over the movies that we needed to buy. The last of the VHS that were still in the large tubs that you might want to swim through if you had the intangibility of Scrooge McDuck.There was plenty of labels to go through, names that Wal*Mart had to offer. And much like the DVD bins they have today it was about twelve movies just dozens of copies of them scattered in the bowl. Even though you can clearly see them displayed about the outside you have this Idea that something amazing might be down in there.
My brother and I picked up VHS’s and held them up to each other debating what one we were about to watch. It was close, like death had breathed against the back of our necks, at that point we had turned to see our father looking much like the Walking Dead, his face had gone pale and it began to produce oils that I seriously did not think he was capable of producing.His body twitched as it hung over and the life was being sapped from him. It was strange watching this being in my fathers flesh, he moved in a staggering way, his limbs hung down like sacks of tubed bologna and he still had no clue what to do with them. Those eyes were soulless, rolling in the back of his head, one could only imagine the sheer pain he must of been going through.
He took off like a blaze to the medical isle and we rushed behind him following. Irl was pushed in his wheel chair just about as fast as life would take him. There was the screech of the winds around us and as we turned the corner Dad had opened the bottle of Pepto-Bismol and began to drink the whole thing…chug… after disgusting chug. It was not just one bottle.. Oh no, that would be too easy, but this was two.
Before we get in to this, you might want to walk away from this story, I will let you know I am a person who hates pink. No it wasn’t because I was a Tomboy, or because I preferred solid colors to pastels, it was because of the next horrific moments of this tale. We had thought my father was doing better, in fact we had gathered one more bottle sealed just in case that there would be something to help him with the burn he was experiencing. What would it to have been like in the war going on in his stomach. There was parts of fowl that were commanding their ships of pepper through the canals of acid and Pepto, stirring and swaying enough to give his liver a harsh case of sea sickness.
There was light in this tunnel for a moment we managed to make it to the cereal aisle where my brother had taken his hand towards the box of Lucky Charms. My dad had reached his hand up and all I could think of was the expression on his face. I didn’t know if he was about to bust out in a Micheal Jackson solo or if he thought he was Kirby and about to suck in the entire shelf.
Both options were wrong though, he instead would turn his mouth up ward and the sea of Pepto was released. Lucky charms boxes and the isle of the cereal were getting sprayed by the most amount of liquid I have ever seen shoot out of someone. It was like he was drinking from the fire hose. This had to be the worst case I had ever seen. I am still scared to this day, the smell of Pepto-Bismol makes me nauseated. The idea of taking it immediately makes me want to vomit and this is with all knowing making my stomach do Yippy the dog back flips as I write this. This was hell, its a hell known by the staff of any hospital, its the horror known by the janitors of any school. The pink vomit, this is not something that is easy to clean up. Remember, this vile drink is suppose to coat your stomach, no matter how hard you try you will be swashing it about the floor for hours. Everything it touches needs to be placed in Hazardous Wastes. There was only one kind of horror for what was done. There is only one scene ever made in history that could compare his actions to it, Stand By Me and the Lard-Ass Scene.
It was there that chunks of undigested chicken and chips began to fly out with seas of pink and brown oil. The amount of product that was damaged was just too much to claim. He didn’t stand in one spot to have this Vomit-tron fest to continue, no instead he moved running down the aisle as the ground and merchandise were getting sprayed.Too much yet? Yeah I am not even half way done.
My brother and I stood there with our mouths hanging inches over the sea of disgust, we turned and looked to the Box of cereal we were about to get. The happy leprechaun looked like something out of a TromaVille movie, its face was distorted as bits and chunks began to fall down the front of it and drizzle down the sides. We could of gone to the next isle backed out the way we came and followed through but no we were 12 and 10, we rushed after him, my brother and I slid through the hallway only in comparison to Micheal J. Fox and his one walking through in Teen Wolf. Most graceful slide ever.
We rushed down the hall where he had not choice but to follow the pink trail of pink fluffy unicorn bits. Dad had taken off and despite our sliding efforts he had ran so far ahead of us we were lost. We had nothing to go by but the staggering feet prints through out the pink ooze. Isle of food and clothing had been sprayed it was something out of a true Wax-museum horror. My brother and I stood dumbfounded wondering why in the world did we not get sick, why it was just dad? I opened the cart of things we had bought and looked to check the receipt.. LP. Lemon Pepper.
There was a look to the other people of Wal*Mart part of me now wondered if they gave 95 percent off on Partially vomited Items, or was this just a loss for the whole store. That was the moment when the loving kind heated staff and over the counter Pharmacists came to meet my dad in the bathroom. I turned my head my heart was beating so fast a woman came up to the side wiping the vomit off my coat and helping with the wheels of my brothers chair. I looked at the face of Brian… in his hand was a mop and bucket. I say this again. I am so… sorry Brian.
My dad turned out to be fine, he was sick though his wolf shirt was stained pink and was tossed out. I was completely disgusted and asked dad if we could never go there to eat again. He solemnly agreed. That weekend dad wasn’t behind the deer. He was in bed and we watched the main bits of merchandise that was vomit free was playing in the VHS.
I declare you the victor Rooster. Least of that battle.