Butchy the Chicken Whisperer, chap 3.

To remind you once again I am the Chicken Whisperer. I’d rather be Sky King but I wear glasses. Sky King doesn’t wear glasses. Howdy Dooty doesn’t wear glasses. The Creature from the Black Lagoon doesn’t wear glasses. Never the less, I am Overlord and Sovereign of the chicken yard located behind our backyard. So never mind my youthful age of eight while wearing glasses. However, Chickens obey my wishes or be threatened with sudden dispatchment and rotisserised. My commands are honored or be roasted. It’s as simple as that. Got it?

But when I’m not whispering my best friend Donnie from Milwaukee and me are often watching my family’s new 1951 Sears 12-inch black and white TV. A TV that often angles to the right or left and looks as if the picture is compressed into a diagonal Dagwood sandwich. So we begin to adjust all the knobs on the front and back. “How’s that Donnie?” “It’s okay but flipping over and over.” Rolling like a non-stop Farris wheel.” So I try some other knobs and adjustments. “Now how’s that?” “Well, the picture is completely black with streaks of white here and there.” I know, When all else fails we could pull out the glass tubes in the back and take them to the drug store and test them on the tube-tester. However, neither me or Donnie drives and Donnie’s mom won’t take us. And it too far to walk to the drug store. But when the TV is working its best, the television looks as if a black and white photo seen through a fresh sheet of wax paper. Fuzzy but somewhat discernible. But if it’s not working so great, we’ll go out back and toss eggs at the neighbor’s cat instead. How about that?

Published by Charles Oldenfatt the Curmudgeon

If I told you the truth about myself you would think what a wad of chewed gum stuck under a church pew I am. Dull. Ordinary .old and fat

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