Why Did the Chicken Cross the Las Vegas Strip?

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Las Vegas Strip?

Citizens in Las Vegas are as mad as wet settin’ hens to find, well, settin’ hens in their streets. Dead settin’ hens. Someone has been chopping off the heads of hens, roosters, and other species of birds and leaving the dead bodies, sometimes in piles, in the streets.

In Las Vegas a headless chicken is pretty much the ultimate topless experience.

Decapitated birds in the streets of Las Vegas might explain why old timers say The Flamingo isn’t what it used to be.

Naturally one wonders what happens to the heads. Do they appear as a featured dish in a famous casino buffet? For lunch the careful diner had better avoid the chicken soup and go with Viva Las Veggies.

Only a few months ago the piles of rotting, headless chickens in the streets would have been George Bush’s fault, but now folks are pretty sure that Vladimir Putin is lurking in wait for careless chickens walking back to their hotels after an evening of gambling at The Chicken Nugget.

Or maybe it’s a question on a Dartmouth College math test: “If Susie has five dead chickens and Bobby has seven dead chickens, why is the privileged male always empowered to have more dead chickens?”

Some have speculated that the piles of foul fowls decaying around the potholes are the result of certain religious rituals.

Duane Reece, who bills himself as a priest, told the local CBS station that animal sacrifices are simply the way a believer cleanses the body. He said nothing about why the streets should not also be clean. But he must be a real priest because he said he is, and his photograph shows a man with the requisite dress-code chin-fuzz and a pair of happening gas-station sunglasses.

The Las Vegas police have a crack squad of chicken inspectors on the job. They lurk in fashionable coffee shops and keep their ears open for any suspicious character who orders a cup of decap. Decap, get it? Decap?

The police have positioned brave and experienced officer Foghorn Leghorn as a decoy near a Kentucky Fried Chicken frequented by known Elvis impersonators, while Clara Cluck is in the witness protection program.

If the dead fowl are because of a gang war of chicken against chicken (it’s a chicken-ring-thing), processing any arrests could be a real problem for the police technician who takes the finger prints. He’s really going to have to be up to scratch.

Las Vegas could soon be known not as Sin City but as Hen City.

In Las Vegas the party never stops. The chickens do, of course.

Las Vegas – the city that never cheeps.

Las Vegas - where your dreams take wings, but the chickens don’t.

But, hey, we all know that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. And rots in the streets.

The terror might not be limited to Las Vegas. Please stay safe when you drive home tonight. You never know if there’s a Rhode Island Red out there with your name on it.

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