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Michael & the Fried Chicken By: Janis A. Dizon Michael couldn't help but let out a cackling laugh at his creation. He just got fired from his job at the "Fried Chicken All-You-Can-Eat and Salad Too! Cafe" after 6 long years of grueling work for 8 bucks an hour. He was bitter, especially since a 16 year old - the daughter of the owner - took his position as the Head Chef. He thought of taking her stringy long hair and using it to dab ketchup. He hated little bitches who got what they wanted all because of daddy. So, today was his last day and this was his last meal, his famous Fried Chicken. It was his own recipe passed down to him by his grandmother, passed down to her by her grandmother, passed down to her by her grandmother. And now, these sons of bitches were using it as theirs with no regard for him. Worse yet, he couldn't sue. He was naive and foolish to give them his recipe. He had no chance of winning in court. Earlier that day, he began making the batter for the chicken and a thought passed through his mind. "I can poison these people. That would teach 'em." He let out a cackling laugh at the thought. Lime juice, honey, milk, tabasco sauce, salt, pepper, garlic, flour, cayenne pepper.... Calamine lotion (the owner's - on account of a bad case of eczema), touch of clorox (used to clean his head chef uniform), rat powder (they used it for the restaurant, those critters are everywhere), rat droppings (he mushed them really well and pretty soon it began to look like pepper), and the thing that made him cackle the hardest - the sprigs of Foxglove that he used to decorate the wonderful Fried Chicken platter. He knew that these ignorant people would gobble up the innocent looking flower not knowing that it would first cause irregular heartbeat, then the diarrhea and stomach cramps would start, and followed by hallucination and mental confusion. And if he got lucky, death. The thought of it made him cackle and cackle as he finished fixing the plate. These New Age bastards with their healty eating would think the poisonous flowers were salad. He was giddy as a school girl. He gave the platter to the waitress and pretty soon he saw the customers eat the fried chicken with delight. And to his amusement, they were eating the Foxglove also, dipping them in the complimentary honey mustard sauce. He was watching the couple so intently who were both in their middle-age. They looked like good people, Michael thought. The kind who would give money to charity or give money to a homeless bum on the street. He almost felt a pang of guilt but then he remembered the unjust way he was fired and he couldn't wait for the couple to fall over and die right in front of everyone. "Honey, I don't feel good.... honey, do you hear me..." Suddenly, the woman screamed loud. Her husband was doubled over near convulsion and he was grasping at the air as if there was something there with a looney grin on his face. Then, there was complete silence, the woman was doing the same thing as her husband. 1 minute passed and they were dead. Everyone in the restaurant didn't know what to do. It happened so quickly, all in the space of 3 minutes. The paramedics came too late. The couple was dead by the time they arrived. All everyone could do was stare and some even spit the food they were eating. Michael watched all of this happening behind his chef's station. He had to stifle a cackle and he almost let out a loud giggle that he was able to stop by biting his lower lip. He felt it was just retribution. In two months time, the restaurant went bankrupt. After the horrible death of the couple no one wanted to eat there ever again. It turned out that the couple were good people. They were the founders of the Local Food Bank and Home Bound Center which housed newly evicted tenants from their homes. Some were evicted due to the non-paying of rent, some just fell on hard times, and others were tricked into signing a fake housing lease. The death of these good samaritans was news all over the country. Michael almost felt bad but the joy of achieving his master goal overrode the guilt. It seemed all he can do was cackle and cackle. He would visit the grave of the couple and he always brought his infamous fried chicken complete with the Foxglove sprigs and left it on their gravestones. The gravetaker would see him visit nearly everyday with the same plate. He saw Michael looking disheveled with hair outgrown and beard unkempt. It turned out that Michael was now homeless due to his job loss. The gravetaker became suspiscious and called the local police. The police came and investigated the fried chicken platter and they made the connection. The fried chicken was tampered with and the accompanying salad was not salad afterall but the poisonous and fatal Foxglove plant. They arrested Michael as he was wandering down the street where the now abandoned restaurant stands. He was cackling and muttering, "I showed you, you sons of bitches. Who has the last laugh now!" And he would cackle and cackle. The newspaper headline reads: "Well known ex-head chef praised for the fried chicken he made famous at local restaurant is now in the local mental hospital for criminals for the alleged poisoning and murder of two beloved local samaritans and charity workers. Details on page 9..." |
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