Where’s My Rubber Chicken?

It’s Buddha’s birthday today.  He is twelve.  Criminy, how did he get this age so fast?  Have we changed kids to dog years now?  He put us on a “money diet” about a month ago so we could prepare for this momentous day.  Told us we had to “slim down our budget” so that he could get more presents.  He’s a lil corker, that one.  This has nothing to do with the title of this blog, I just had to toss that one in.

One of my kids will invariably come to me at least once a week (there are three of them, I think they draw straws and take turns at this) and say, “Ma, it hurts when I do this:” and then proceed to make some kind of unholy, improbable gyration.  My response is always, “Where is my rubber chicken?  Then don’t DO that!”  And I make like I’m hitting them on the head with the invisible rubber chicken.  Well…….(insert maniacal laugh here) I bought a ……wait for it…….RUBBER CHICKEN at Eckerd’s Drug Store on Sunday!  That’s right, folks.  I am now the proud owner of a brand new rubber chicken!  Oh the joy I felt in my heart at the sight of that little ol box just chock full of rubber chickens!  The heavens opened up, a beam of pure heavenly light fell upon it, and the choir of angels began to sing!  A real live rubber chicken!  In all my days I never thought to really own one of my own!  I snatched that bad boy up before anyone could stop me and nearly ran to the checkout counter to pay for it.  Then, I took it to My Dearest Husband’s cousin, Turtle Neck’s, birthday party.  Heh. 

Oh My God!  If I had not been there myself, I would never have believed that it was possible to come up with three solid hours of cock jokes.  But we did.  Luckily we all have very low humor thresholds.  Doesn’t matter what it is, we can find a way to laugh at it.  (If you have a sensitive bone in your body it won’t be good for you to attend a family funeral with us.)

Every person there, adults and children alike, played with my cock.  Technically it’s not a cock, but like I said, we have a low humor threshold.  We choked the chicken.  The kids tossed my cock around the yard.  My Dearest Husband hit Possum’s friend Bubbles in the face with my cock. 

Birdie, my only natural child and the mother of Buddha and Bella, was half mad at me and half jealous when I told her I had it.  She said that her boyfriend is really afraid of looking forward to meeting me, because he wants to know where she gets her crazy unique way of looking at things.  First thing she said when I told her I had it was this:  Where’s my rubber chicken?  Then don’t DO that!!!   HAHAHA 

It was almost as good as the time the Pillsbury Dough-boy died.  Well, the voice of him did.  We did jokes all damn day.  We speculated all day about whether he committed suicide by sticking his head in the oven, or if he died of a yeast infection.  We thought we should send flour to his family.  We thought maybe we could bring about a miracle by putting him in a warm draft free place, placing a dishtowel over him, and seeing if maybe he would rise. 

*sigh*  Good times, Good times.

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2 Responses to Where’s My Rubber Chicken?

  1. thought4food says:

    I’m honored by your visit Mr. Fabulous! I hope you were treated well. Did you get to play with my cock while you were here? I really like it when strangers stop by and handle my cock.

    I hope you come back soon. By the way, how do I set it up so that I can listen to your next radio broadcast? I’m sooo jonesin for some of your raunchy talk.

    Come back soon and I’ll let you choke the chicken while I watch ya! *giggle* THAT’LL be cookin with GAS, BABY!!

  2. Mr. Fabulous says:

    This lowbrow humor makes me hot.

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