Flapdoodle

Posted on July 23, 2014October 10, 2014 by Love Happy Notes - Daily Fun and Inspiration

Kenneth

Kenneth my ‘new’ classic car, rode like the wind; gusted, stalled, wafted, flurried, but was a genuine Zephyr: Kitted out like a Knight-rider, on his way to an all-knight-Diner. To say he was two tyred would only be half as tired as he felt.

I’d bought Kenneth from Nigel, an impoverished virgin Vampyr, who couldn’t cut the mustard; he just wasn’t seasoned enough. He’d been a dentist who always looked down in the mouth. A caretaker of unusual teeth; The tooth fairy and friends, pixies, ogres and beings with low elf-esteem.

I happened upon him stalking a chicken crossing the road (by gerbiling inside a monowheel). Nigel called it poultry in motion. Looked more like Hamster wheel globetrotting to Hamsterdam. The chicken rolled in the mud and crossed the road again. I knew she was a dirty double-crosser!

Whoever heard of a pennyless vampire? Nigel was so poor he couldn’t even pay attention. He was in debt, and he just couldn’t budge it. Plus, he was ‘hunting’ a Were-chicken on a full moon; one mad as a Cuckoo-Cluck! ‘Scarce as hen’s teeth’ was now a Fangtasy. And ‘The Flapdoodle’ would be out on Patrol tonight…

Werechook in a monowheel in the snow

I had to warn Nigel. He thought she was a free range Chick, but he was about to be henpecked. It was a fowl Fry-day, and bird-dogging her was chicken feed. But talk is ‘Cheep’ where chickens tweet. Would her four-leaf clover deliver the cluck of the Irish? Road centre, in her chewing-gum-boots, she laid it on the line. Shook her tail-feather though they weren’t ruffled at all. She strutted around like a banty rooster, cocksure and ready to rule the roost. Would Nigel chicken out?

Kenneth the Zephyr was breezing. All we needed was a wet chinook to drop a hand green-egg on the Were-chook. But the eggs-ploding Caesar wouldn’t lettuce be. Was the Werechick was all she was cracked up to be?

Nigel was praying he wasn’t the prey of his prey. That he wouldn’t get bitten, or shredded to coleslaw. But she’d built a nest in his addled beered, egghead. He’d practiced saying, ‘this won’t hurt a byte’. Nigel was Professor of Geekology and King of the Toothsome Worriers, but that was in his afore gone life.

Vampire, vampyr, snowing, fantastic story

Nigel

As the day retired with a gold watch of the sun. We tried to commune with Nigel’s thoughts, but were we hippy-nuff? Nigel tried to keep an open mind, but worried his brain might fall out.

We brooded like mother hens and listened to Chickenfoot thump their rock. Kenneth was an Alpha as far as Zephyrs go. His Hero complex was more complex than locating a magnetic monopole, unattached from an Ice-block stick, or minus a Gogo dancer.

The Moon may be full, but we were hungry. The Luna-chick was about to eclipse our Play. Nigel stepped forth into the Chook’s orbit. Whoever is right, will be the only one left.

Kenneth sighed, if only we had Engine-ears; we could hear and oversee. Suddenly, we saw two goldfish in a tank, but neither knew how to drive it. The din of the balderdash woke a Bull-dozer up. His itch-hiking fleas jumped to a garbage truck; the one that has wheels, and flies. There was only one thing left to do: Let the windscreen Vipers out.

The Flapdoodle

Just as a dastardly demolition derby deigned its declaration… He appeared: the Flapdoodle, King of all of us. With nary a sound, the Flapdoodle stopped traffic swifter than a lollipop lass in a Candy-apple-flavoured bikini. His heartfelt gesture turned us all to mush, literally. It snowed! The delighted humans played and gushed.

Kenneth’s white-wall tyres swerved. It wasn’t raining cats and dogs, it was hailing taxis! The Flapdoodle stood firm. Nigel’s legs turned to jelly, with ice-cream, wafers and chocolate sauce.

The Werechicken Little’s feet were clawing and Puffin her retreat. She took a Tern to see Gull ability wasn’t an option, none would swallow that. No longer a roadrunner, winging it before her goose was cooked, she up and flew the coop!

Nigel’s mouth agape, fang-dangling, expectorating, suckling bloodless expectations whelped, ‘I suck!’
‘You wish’ I thought. There was one thing I knew for sure.
THE FLAPDOODLE RULES!
This is no fanging fun. Come on Nigel, off to the blood store. Vamping’s not what it used to be.

Tagged F