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The Microwaved Chicken Heart bellowed in triumph as his hideous six-inch fangs tore through the President’s colon. The Chief Executive shrieked in agony; his hopes for a pleasant Wednesday shattered in a few bloody moments. “I don’t believe I’m going to be re-elected,” he whimpered brokenly.
The day had dawned so calm and fresh, like a newly douched virgin, with just a hint of mellow smoothness. It was impossible for anyone to imagine the horror that awaited the strong, hopeful, idealistic city that was Washington, D.C. It began with two young boys; white, slim, greedy, cowardly masturbators both. One boy was named Tommy. The other boy was named Dougie. Dougie was wearing his sister’s underwear and clutching a small zip-lock bag; dark with congealed blood. The boys were headed for the local Dairy Mart with mischief on their minds, the kind of mischief that would soon lead to insensate evil. Upon entering the store, Tommy attempted to confuse the clerk, one Ahmed Mustapha Ahkbara, by demanding a 128 oz. mega-gulp. While this was going on, Dougie quickly slipped the zip-lock bag into the ancient microwave, encrusted with petrified cheese, and pushed a button. Seconds later, the two boys exited the store, snickering loudly. Soon, the over-worked clerk heard a loud POP! “Clever, clever Americans, so noble, so just,” he murmured wearily. He approached the microwave. He opened the microwave door. The blood soaked minute that followed is indescribable.
Let’s describe it anyway. Ahmed peered inside the microwave; the newly reanimated Chicken Heart, pulsing with malevolence, leaped out at him, tearing his face off with gleaming, razor sharp chicken fangs, and hurling it onto a display of overpriced breakfast cereals. The heart slashed viciously at his right arm, severing it at the shoulder, and then used it to beat the luckless clerk’s ass until it was covered with unsightly purpling bruises. Ahmed screamed shrilly, clawing at a shelf full of snackwells; dimly aware that what was happening was, at the least, highly improbable. He felt a vibration and looked down. The Chicken Heart was literally sawing his right leg off. Blood spurted powerfully as his femoral artery was severed and then, incredibly, Ahmed felt his now tender butt cheeks parting as the Heart shoved his leg up his ass, through yards of intestines, past stomach and esophagus, and then the final indignity of smelling his own foot as it emerged from behind his gleaming, impeccably preserved middle-eastern teeth. “Oooof,” he said.
The Chicken Heart bathed itself in Ahmed’s still flowing blood, renewing its strength. It dimly sensed its need to kill, in order to survive. How ironic, it thought. The two cowardly masturbators who by sheer accident were the Chicken Heart’s parents were on their way home to masturbate and had almost reached the corner when the Killer Heart hit them savagely from behind like George Michael. Tommy writhed in agony as the Chicken Heart gulped hot marrow and bulldozed his way up Tommy’s spinal cord en route to a delicious brain salad sandwich. Moments later, the Heart shot out of Tommy’s eye socket and straight down Dougie’s shrieking cakehole. “Help, help!” Yelled Dougie, “I’m being killed by a re-animated chicken’s heart!” He died the thousand deaths of a coward; of a stinking, cowardly masturbator. The Chicken Heart briefly bathed in the blood of Dougie’s liver. A coward’s blood is thin, too thin, it reflected. What I need is the glorious, thick red blood of a patriot!
Silence. The kind of silence you only get when a re-animated, microwaved chicken heart is lost in thought. It was wondering whether Herve Villachaize, who played Tatoo on Fantasy Island, was a dwarf or a midget. Well, it thought, dwarves have huge heads and midgets are proportional; and Tatoo’s head looked pretty small to me, so I’m going to go with midget…
Seconds later, the corpses of two masturbating cowards were pureed as a sonic boom ripped the air apart. The Heart tore through the air, hurtling itself at fantastic speeds straight towards The White House of the White President of the United States!
Twin torrents of blood gushed out of the President’s skull as the Heart casually munched his optic nerves, sucking them down at last like spaghetti. Growling hideously, he headed for the Chief poop chute…
As the President lay dying, the Vice-President of the United States strode into the room, his bald head gleaming, his shoulders draped with an American flag, his fists clenched in righteous fury. “You fiend!” He snarled, advancing on the Chicken Heart, “I’ll…” The brave 2nd stringer collapsed on the floor and lay gasping for air on the floor, having suffered his 25th and 26th heart attacks, simultaneously…
It was a grey, cold day in the Capitol. The Vice-President of the United States raised his right hand soberly as he prepared to take the oath of office. The crowd, huddled under a sea of black umbrellas, sensed a new strength in him, and heaved a mental sigh of relief. Soon, they would get out of the rain and back home to their flat screen, digital television sets and their superb selections of Chinese take-out. Things were going to be fine, just fine.
Later, the new President looked out over his city from the balcony of his new home. “My city!” He whispered gleefully. “Full of rich strong blood, the blood of patriots!” His new, tiny, ferocious heart beat strongly.
