The thunder clapped deafeningly. The weather, quite obviously stormy, set the mood perfectly, for tonight was the night that things had to change. Tonight was the night that they had to leave.
Tonight was the night that Robert Dickins, Rubber Chicken had to save the world.
The chicken was clearly upset, as shown just by looking at its lifeless rubber face, though Robert knew that some things had to be done. And for that reason, Robert was leaving.
The rubber chicken looked at his sleeping owner. The "Almighty Squeaks" as people would call her, was sleeping in her room which would later be flooded with light at like five or six in the morning. Robert looked at her mass of orange, hairy hair. Actually, maybe it's more of an auburn. Tangelo? I don't know.
"I give a hoot about you. But unfortunately, I need to cockadoodle-do this." Robert whispered to Squeaks in his voice that sounded a bit like a cross between Duke Nukem's voice and a dog toy squeaker.
Robert choked back a tear. Of course, the chicken didn't want to leave, as suggested by the twelve times I said the chicken didn't want to leave beforehand, but, as I also suggested twelve times, he had to.
If he didn't leave, everyone would die. Everyone on Earth would be saying holy cow. And before anyone asks, that was indeed a farm pun. I guess it was a bit of a stretch, though. Kinda like how rubber stretches when you… stretch it, I guess. Why does rubber do that? I don't know, but it's pretty cool. Crazy how this world works, amiright?
Giving The Almighty Squeaks one last nuzzle with his beak, Robert Dickens, Rubber Chicken hopped on his motorcycle and drove away in the dead of the stormy night. Soon enough, everyone would know the chicken's name. Soon enough, everyone would realize who had saved them from The Bovine Menace and the aliens and The Legitimate Illuminati Like No Joke That's Us, Worst Secret Society In The World. Soon, even Squeakadeeks would be grateful for Roberts leaving.
He was needed elsewhere.
CHAPTER ONE: the Bovine Lord