Chick-Fil-A. Their claim of fame is being the founders of the original chicken sandwich. I for one challenge such a blatant claim of a food industry that existed for only less than a mere century, but all of those mindless drones keep on stepping in past those doors just to eat the "original" chicken sandwich. There has to be a chicken sandwich in history somewhere, some point and some time before them. That however begs the obvious question, who or what would that be?
And so begins my venture diving headfirst into the collective source of truth, where the center of knowledge runs amok incapable of containing the wisdom bottled up inside. Chuck E Cheese's. Off I speed away down the windy roads in my Lamborghini painted in the most hideous shade of yellow to this fountain of knowledge. There is no better place to go ask for knowledge in abundance, and the best part is I can find this source every ten miles from where I live. Nothing can stop me! Except for the fact I had to park the car, and step put of it, and stamping my hand to get inside to make I sure I don't accidentally take a kid. Go figure, I thought they come here to leave them behind, not the other way around.
Once past all of the nuisance of a security point, I go up to the counter and said, "I need Chuck, tell him it’s about a chick."
The lady. Or I should say girl, she looks like 17, so probably a girl. She is stunned in response to my request, her mouth is stuck in a wide O and she just stares back blankly. It became an awkward moment, I did not know if she is just flirting or something. Whatever.
"Uh, hold please." She responds finally, snapping back to whatever little senses she has. She goes to the back room and brings her manager back with her. He is fat. Really fat. I will not say more than that.
"Sorry bud, Chuck just had his last appearance five minutes ago. Come back tomorrow."
Oh shucks. I forgot the fountain of knowledge closes at 10, and Chuck is long gone before then. All is lost until a I catch sight of perhaps the wisest person on the face of the earth, she practically has started her own religion with millions of devout loyal subjects. The one and only, Taylor Swift.
She is there on stage singing her pop hits to a small crowd of kids. So I shove my way through this mindless crowd, grabbing their little faces and tossing them aside like obnoxious speed cones. Some parents gasp by my heroism, I have saved their children. But that is not why I am here, there are more pressing issues on my mind.
I kneel before her presence, bequeathing her wisdoms. "Oh great mistress of the all knowing Taylor Swift, I beseek your spiritual guidance. For I am going through a solemn and turbulent trial. Where may I find the true original chicken sandwich?"
She starts on rambling her wisdom to me. There is something about being mean, and being nothing but a bully, then about never getting back together following then to shake it off. Admittedly, at first it seems to be nothing but random speech, until she mentions something about wildest dreams. It dawns on me. Everything became so much clearer, all the dots are now connected and I now know exactly what she is trying to tell me.
I ecstatically thank her, "You truly are the wisest dame in the four realms."
I run off excitedly back into my Lambo to drive where she told me to go. I have to get never get back together again with someone who has a wild dream, in other words I need to hunt down Dr Seuss. And to get the answers I need is by being mean to get him to shake off the truth to me. It is SO SIMPLE that I do not understand why I did not see it sooner, I am a total idiot but now I am genius, oh, and Taylor too.
Off my Lambo hums its beatific music, revving through the gears in an orchestrating tune. Dr Seuss did not see me coming up his drive way, but he most definitely heard me. I find him jumping out his window in his boxers and shaving cream foaming the air, in an escapade from my surprising intrusion. That's it, no more mister nice guy, time to be mean.
Jumping out of my Lambo and giving chase, a give a pretty nice tackle if I do say so myself. The man goes down like a sack of potatoes. With that out of the way, mister nice guy is back, that should encourage him to shake off the truth now.
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"Sorry about that. Now tell me! Where can I find an original chicken sandwich? Tell me please!" I demand the man in a contagious plea.
He streamed a location for me. "Have you asked a Flace in Space? Mister fox in socks made friends with those hens. I would count one, two, three then you are out there free."
Another sir of genius. Off to my Lambo again, the ugliest shade of yellow to match my awe inspiring wonder. Into my machine and a slap of my doors, I press the big red button. Some idiots press this button, thank goodness I am no idiot.
The engines hum a lively jet sounding engine, in fact, it is far better than a jet engine. The whiplash slaps me back in my seat as the car flies up, and up, and up, and up. Until I broke the stratosphere, atmosphere, hemisphere and whatever other sphere you can think of. Until I did it, make it in space in my hideously yellow lambo. After taking a quick roam out and about in space, there are no clear signs of the supposed Flace. Space is seemingly not where to look. You know what, maybe he did not mean space.
Something catches my hyper vigilant irises, corn kernels floating in space about to break past the atmosphere. I know for certainty that I need them, but they are going down into the atmosphere soon. Knowing what this means, I jerk my car to fly under those kernels and open my window. They start popping and fill my car up with fresh natural popcorn.
Now that I have enough of that, it is time to go back to Dr. Seuss. Again, He does not see me coming, but he definitely hears me breaking the sound barrier. He jumps out again in his boxers and fresh shaving cream again, only this time he runs to my car instead of away from me. Half of my popcorn spills out when he opens the door and he sits on my precious popcorn, it hurts my soul to see that shaving cream dripping on my popcorn.
"Fine! I'll get you what you seek for. To find it, we need to go archaeological."
"Cool, sounds awesome to me. Where to?" I ask.
"Arizona desert, but it'll take us..."
I press another red button, this is followed by the world turning bright and then suddenly appearing in the middle of the Arizona desert.
"Wow, that was fast." Dr Seuss says, "wait a minute? Couldn't you have done that instead of coming to me at the speed of Mach 1?"
I shrug, "Meh. Now what else doctor?"
He scopes out the immediate area in search for something completely unbeknownst to me, until he points at a barely visible altar dedicated to some rock 30 meters away.
"Aha! There!" He trembles his finger in the excitement that I expect from a genius discovery.
We both fumble out of the Lambo to go the makeshift stone alter, the one dedicated to the rock. Actually, upon closer observation, that rock resembles instead, and quite shokingly, to a chicken sandwich. The Dr. picks it up and presents it to me gloriously.
"I present to you the last of its kind, the petrified chicken sandwich. Legend is it has existed millions of years ago, since the time of the dinosaurs."
I whistle in awe. "Dang, now that is old. But how can we tell if it us genuine?"
Someone taps my shoulder. I find a lone scientist that somehow appeared out of nowhere in the open desert, but in retrospect so did I and I guess that is fine.
"I can use my spectrum-x radioactive scanner to test the authenticity of your foreign specimen." The scientist says.
"What?"
"Here, give me that. I can tell if it is real." He snatches the petrified chicken sandwich.
He tosses it under the massively large machine and light flickering scanner that scans the petrified thingy. A single speck of petrified chicken breaks off, and in the same instance, one of the radioactive lights zaps that piece. It glows and grows, bigger, and bigger, until an actual live pterodactyl stands before us.
"Oh no," the scientist streams an outrageously long sentence rapidly in a single gulp of breath, "A pterodactyl must have been eating this sandwich around the time it has died and some of its saliva became petrified with the sandwich as it hardened and the DNA was conserved for these millions of years waiting for some idiot or genius to come along and use a radioactive laser that would restimulate the petrified DNA saliva cells to create a clone of the previous pterodactyl!"
The flying beast eats both the Dr. and Scientist in one gulp. He is about to eat me too, and I always get gassy when I am nervous. So I pass gas and the big bird topples over dead.
"Huh, talk about being extinct." I click my tongue, flicking my fingers at it like if I am some cool rocker.
A ding not unlike that of a done microwave rings. The scanner that is now done scanning is shutting down. Incredible, the petrified chicken is warmed up and apparently now fresh. Naturally, I pick it up to sink my teeth into it, getting a taste of the true original chicken sandwich.
“Mmm…” I clench my fists on the amazing sandwich, twisting in ecstasy from the amazing blend of flavors. “this is truly an original ancient chicken sandwich.”
The two guys in the pterodactyl's stomach yell, "Can you let us out? We want to try too."