Tag Archives: Chicken Itza^*

easy as

Arnold had brought them here to this chicken laden place to sit just outside. He wanted them to be witnesses in case Grey Scale Kimball launched a full, um, scale investigation of the two.

“So many chickens around here, Kevin C.,” Kevin E spoke to his lover while peering around him at the other side of Bridgeman’s. “I can count 1 (pause), 2 (pause), 3. Like us, hehe. 1 (Kevin E. points to Kevin C.), 2 (Kevin E points to Kevin A. on his other side), 3 (Kevin E. points himself).”

“That’s very good, Kevin E.” Kevin C. pats his knee this time. “Remember the word ‘appli-cation’ from yesterday? There were 3 squiggly letters — 1, 2, 3. Then you said the next letter, a straight one. What number would *that* be in word.”

“Errr. 3 again?” Kevin E. guessed incorrectly.

“No, that’s not right.”

“Shh, guys,” spoke up Kevin A. — as stated before, the smartest of the group. Or least dumb I suppose I could put it more accurately. But that’s not really fair to them. They’re all sweet as can be. Especially C. and *especially* especially E. Sweetgrass sweet for those two. Kevin A. didn’t quite make the cut and had to remain straight. He is just outside looking in. Outside with Space Ghost at the Northeast Quadrant that’s filled out nicely in the meantime. “I hear someone coming,” he continued after listening a bit more. He was just outside looking in again. But the big dining table hid the supposed action.

Kevin C. looked up and down the road running beside Bridgeman’s but saw nothing. Kevin E. followed his eyes and then looked himself, a copycat act. He was often in copy mode. Kevin C. then realized what Kevin A. was talking about.

If that moaning would stop inside, Kevin E. thought,  maybe I could concentrate on the road and see what Kevin A. was talking about. He peered further down the road right — direction 1 he decided to call it to keep organized in the moment, as Kevin C. had taught him recently. He studied the old Archer place from a distance; could almost see that blue band or whatever playing at the dance pad over there.

Then direction, um, 2: Airport tower this way.

Still no sign of someone coming. The moaning accelerated inside, reaching a climactic point just as Kevin E. uncharacteristically shouted “Shut up!” to them, “I can’t think with all that going on.”

—–

Chicken Itza and Marcus walked out of Bridgeman’s, looked at the Kevins lined up in a row outside, and feigned turning red. “Eh heh,” laughed Marcus nervously. “Er, just some bad chicken. We *ate* some bad chicken.”

“Yeah, *bad* bad,” accented Chicken Itza beside him. Bad as in *good*, he thought to himself as part of the cover up.

Kevin E. realized what Kevin A. was talking about.

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flowery 02

“Soo,” Chesteria A. Arthur began again, trying to get to the bottom of things. “You and Marcus have been a secret gay couple all along.”

“That’s right, Chesteria.” Chicken Itza turns to Marcus. “Pucker up again, lover boy. We’ll prove it.”

Chesteria waves it off. “No, I think I’ve seen enough of *that* type of proof. I need more.”

“I mean, I have my art…” Marcus states rather weakly, waving his arm around the house. “All these… men. Why do you–” but he stops himself here, understanding he was giving himself away more than defending himself.

“*Exactly* what someone *straight* would do to ingratiate themselves with the community,” reveals Chesteria A. Arthur. “*Our* community.”

“I mean,” Marcus begins again. “Really–” he sputters.

“Please don’t say that we’re the only lesbian couple in (Regaltown). Please don’t go down that path again. We have the approval of the council to be here.”

“But–,” Marcus speaks haltingly again. “*Your* lover — Gray Scale Kimball — *is* the council. Her and Pat.”

“And Pat doesn’t count,” Chicken Itza quickly points out. “Since he or she’s bisexual.”

“Hrmph. All this is sidestepping the actual topic. We’re *gay*, get it. *You’re* — you two guys — *aren’t*. Potentially — still haven’t quite figured it out.”

“The art,” Marcus almost whispers, waving his arm around again.

“The kissing,” Chicken Itza emphasizes, and then leans over and gives Marcus another peck on the lips, making Marcus feign another small smile. “So pleasant,” he says, licking his lips a little for emphasis while Chesteria stares at him. He then leans toward Chicken and pecks him on the lips as well, having some trouble maneuvering around the hood on his head.

“*Alright*,” Chesteria pronounces, tired of the accing. “You’re *gay*. Okay, I won’t tell Grey Scale about this. You know how she’s like.”

Marcus and Chicken couldn’t decide whether to jointly say “thank you,” or keep on defending their faux homosexuality by saying nothing. Glancing nervously at each other, they chose the latter. Keep playing it safe, they thought in harmony. This was all so new to them.

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flowery

“Soo. I’m trying to figure out if you’re gayy or not, Chicken Itza. I mean, *I’m* gay. Gray Scale Kimball is gay. Marcus is gay.”

“Marcus is not gay,” corrects Chicken Itza. “He just likes flowers. Primmy flowers.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“We can go ask him if you wish. Saw him out back of his gallery when we were jogging by.”

“Hmm,” responded Chesteria A. Arthur, mate of Grey Scale Kimball. “Sometimes I wonder why we jog together, Chicken Itza. Is it just that we’re next to each other alphabetically in a list of new novel 15 characters?”

“Yes,” states Chicken Itza bluntly. “Else I’d still be laying in my own pool of blood back at Bridgeman’s. That and the suit.”

“Ah yes. The *gay* suit,” Chesteria purred. “But sometimes I think you are a straight in gay garb.”

“Humph.” He assumes a less manly pose on the bench with this.

“I’ve run behind you now too many times. Your hips don’t sway the right way–”

“Oh I’m gay,” breaks in Chicken Itza, fearing exposure of his true self could mean expulsion from the community. He needs his scripts! Love scripts.

“Prove it. I mean, you have the suit, yeah. But anyone could climb into that cock-amanie outfit, hah, and declare themselves gay.”

Chicken Itza’s thoughts turned toward Marcus again. “Okay, I have a way. Follow me.”

—–

“Hmm, dee dumm. Dumm dee… dee…” Oh hi guys. Jogging around the community again?”

“Pucker up Marcus,” warns Chicken Itza just in time.

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heat

“Tell me what is troubling you my dear. I hope you like it here in Chicken Itza.”

This is *not* Chicken Itza, Chesteria Arthur thinks. And I’m not doing this tonight.

—–

“….Chicken Itza?”

“Annie!”

—–

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auditions

“Not too bad for seconds, Hatfield, but also: not good enough. 3.3 seconds. You needed 10.”

“Eek, my spine,” he managed in-between groans.

“Next! Announce yourself first before mounting the Wild Whale.”

“Um, TV. Colored TV.”

“Do you, Mr. TV, understand the challenge facing you? The Wild Whale giveth, the Wild Whale taketh. All Hail the Wild White Whale.”

“All Hail the Wild White Whale,” everyone within earshot repeated, and even Hatfield managed a weak, out-of-breath, “All Hail… White Whale,” before his stretcher arrived.

—–

“11.5, Colored,” proclaimed Baker Bloch. “Most excellent — 3rd best time yet. You can join the winners over in the The White Whale Lounge.”

“Thank you, sir (*eek*). Thank you (*groan*) kindly.”


Colored TV joining the “winners” after being checked out and cleared by the medical staff.

“Next!”

“Hi Male Baker. Do you know my wings are called Dali.”

“Mount the whale, sir,” rushed Baker Bloch, knowing he already had a winning TV character and not desiring random chatter from this *inferior* product, then. “The Wild Whale giveth, the Wild Whale taketh. All Hail the Wild White Whale.”

“All Hail the Wild White Whale,” everyone within earshot repeated. It was over in 2.

Iggy later gave his broken tv head back to Grey Scale Kimball. “A lot of good it did for me,” making GSK nod in agreement.

“Let’s see how far it can roll into the sink.”

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