The Truth About Chickens... oh and marilyn monroe

i awoke this morning at three-seventeen a.m., startled out of a quite pleasant dream about singing cockroaches by the sound of a typewriter operating at high speed. Switching on the light i discovered that Marilyn Monroe was sitting in a chair beside my bed, quite naked, with a chicken in her lap and a thin strip of paper issuing from between her closed lips. Other than the fact that the chicken's eyes were sending out burst of green and black fire in time with the clacking of typewriter keys, everything seemed perfectly in order.

Abruptly the sound ended, the chicken tore the strip of paper from Monroe's lips and flapped across the two feet of space between her lap and my bed. It approached, the fire absent from it's eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry about this," Monroe said, "but it seems I've been possesed by Nietzsche again, he claims he's on to some sort of universal knowledge..... Do my nipples look alright to you?"

"Your nipples look fine dear." I assured her, and took the paper strip from the chicken, which began pecking at bits of fluff on the bedsheets.

The note from Nietzsche read.....

'The whole chicken and egg argument is useless, juvinille fodder for the delinquient thoughts of mediocre minds. A true philosopher, one with a will to greateness and an acute sense of the power inherent in all healthy delusions will eat nothing but omelets with tex-mex style chicken breasts and fresh sheeps milk.'

"This is madness." I said, rolling a cigarette.
"Do you suppose I could have one of those old chap?" The chicken asked in an obviously faked british accent.

Of course I gave it one, and offered one to Monroe.

"Oh no," she said, "I only smoke when clothed. And of course it's madness, everyone knows that philosophers are pathologically incapable of making decent omelets, the only sensible thing to do with chickens is to give them scotch. Perhaps you would care to join us for a drink?"

I nodded my assent and she poured three glasses.

While we drank, Monroe began telling off-color jokes, sadly I didn't get to hear the punch-line to the one where Michaelangelo is being sodomized by the pope, because Monroe began making sounds that made her nudity even more arousing. And then, to the chicken's evident disgust, laid an egg.

"Dippy-bitch" the bird muttered into it's drink, "that's bloody well my department innit."

Monroe, to her credit, ignored the bird and picked up the egg, which hatched almost immediately, revealing Jim Morrison.

"I say God-Damn, that, THAT was some good shit." he said.

I rolled Jim a cigarette, Monroe poured him a scotch.

"Thank you." he said, glancing about the room, and running his hand across Monroe's butt. She giggled.

"Fuck off J." the chicken said, "It's a stupid plan and I'm not helping anymore."

"Now, come on man. It's working great, you can't cop out on us now."

"No, enough is enough." the chicken turned to me, "Look, I'll level with you. You, indeed all of humanity is living in a world that has been purposely led astray. I am not really a chicken. I am a human from the future, masquerading as a chicken."

"But that is Marilyn Monroe, right?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And that is Jim Morrison, right?"

"Well, yes, and well.... you see what you need to understand is this. In my time human society was working so well that it was quite frankly boring as hell. So after the invention of time travel we abducted the corpse of some random preacher who the romans had crucified, reanimated the poor fool, sent him back to his disciples to stir up all manner of nonsense, then abducted him again and took him to California in the early 1960's and made him a rock star."

"Yeah," said Jim, "that was great, acid is a phenomenal thing. But you've got to help with the last bit."

"Will you shut up Jesus. I'm not helping anymore."

"Hey, I like being called Jim now, less confusing."

"Shut up! Shut up you rock-star messiah freak!! I'm telling you I'm done, the whole thing is silly enough already." the chicken said, then turned back to me, "Now they want to go back in time again once this guy gets old and fat and then skip around the planet delivering toys in the middle of fucking winter. I am not changing into a reindeer and that's final. I rather like being a chicken."

"Aww... c'mon." Jim said, "It'll be funny."

"Do you mean like Santa?" Monroe asked, "Cause that's already been done."

"You see, she's heard of me!! That means you're gonna cave at some point. Let's roll baby."

Jim grabbed the chicken and they vanished.

I picked a few errant feathers out of the chicken's glass and finished it's scotch.

"You look kinda cold Ms. Monroe." I said, peeling back the sheet to invite her in.

"Call me Marilyn."

Yup... tomorrow I'm calling all the newspapers and tv stations. They might not want to believe me, after all there's going to be a certain amount of history that needs to be revised, but a story this important has to be told. The world needs to know that Marilyn Monroe, wow man, she's a screamer.