I remember the first time I saw that damn car. It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. It was bad enough I had to wear the stupid Chicken Shack uniform, which was red with three yellow chickens strolling across the front with the words “Get Clucked!” on the back, but now there was this god-awful travesty on wheels.
“Ain’t she a beaut?” asked Tim, my boss, and owner of Chicken Shack. The fucker had a twisted grin and a gleam in his eye. I swear, he was as proud of that car as he was of his kids. Maybe more. But to be honest, it kind of makes sense because his kids aren’t all that great. They’re miniature reproductions of him and his equally-obnoxious wife, Tina, so that makes sense. After all, you don’t breed two jackasses and get a thoroughbred.
Tim was standing beside his chicken car wit
