Saturday, July 21, 2012

Writings We Set Fire to a Hobo to Obtain

In chronicling the all-too-brief writing career of Chickenhead Antonucci we've done a lot of things we're not very proud of. We've stolen from babies, we've staged suicides, we've even threatened a number of celebrities. But when we set a homeless man on fire to bring to you the words you will read below we knew we had to leave the country. Thus, from an undisclosed location, here now are more wonderful stories from Chickenhead.

Also, a lot of people have been asking, and yes, Chickenhead was decidedly anti-Chick-Fil-A, both their food and their beliefs.

And now, Chickenhead.

April 7, 2001
The Great Remodel

Guiseppe stood in front of the theater, sweeping the sidewalk. As people passed by and sullied what he had swept, he whacked them on the legs with his broom. One happy couple stopped by the door.
“Oh,” the woman said. “What is it you’re doing with the theater?” 

“What?” Guiseppe said.
“The theater. What are you doing to it?”
“I am doing nothing with it! I love this theater! My father owned it, and he handed it down to me! Screw you yuppy bastards! Get out! Go!”
The couple walked away, baffled by the crazy man with the broom. After they left, a young man approached with a cup of coffee, which he handed to Guiseppe.
“Hey, Guiseppe,” he said. “Here’s your coffee. How you doin’?”
“Carmine, thank you. I could use this coffee.”
“What are you doin’ to the place?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I mean, what are you doin’ with the theater?”
“Get out!” Guiseppe screamed. “I’ll jam this broom so far up your rear end, you’ll look like a unicorn! This theater is the same that it’s always been!”
Guiseppe chased Carmine away, as a group of high schoolers noticed the commotion and gathered around the theater.
“What do you kids want? You want inside?” Guiseppe said.
“Aren’t you remodeling?”
“Why does everyone think I’m changing my theater?”
“It says ‘The Great Remodeling’ on the sign.”
Guiseppe looked at the sign and became quite upset. “Hey, Houdini! Get out here!” A man the spitting image of Oil Can Harry from the Mighty Mouse cartoon came outside.
“What is this?” Guiseppe said to him. “Did you spill ketchup on my sign?”
“I a spill nothing!” the man said.
“Are you one of the remodelers?” one of the kids asked.
“I am the magician, the Great Remode, accent grave over the E. Re-mod-ay! The exclamation point has a filthy stain on it.”
“But, you’re Italian,” another kid said. “Isn’t Remode French?”
“Which of a you did this? I send a you all to Africa!” And with a wave of his magic wand, the Great Remode sent four innocent students to the Sahara Desert.
“Remode,” Guiseppe said. “Why did you do that?”

Remode waved his wand again and turned Guiseppe into a box of Cocoa Puffs.
“There,” Remode said. “He’s a cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. I get a myself some a low-fat milk and a bowl.”

Thu. 5/3/01

Mitch and I sat on the front porch, drinking glasses of Country Time and watching a family of squirrels take over the yard.
“Do you know,” I said. “that I can’t remember the last time I actually had a dream?”
“You mean like a sleeping dream or an MLK kind of dream?” Mitch asked.
“Sleeping dream.”
“Well, I still dream,” he said. “I dreamed last night that I was Rocky.”
“The boxer or these little bastards’ flying cousin?” I asked.
“The boxer.”
“Marciano or Balboa?”
“Balboa,” he said. “I love those movies. Don’t you?”
“Not really, no,” I replied. “And you’ll never convince me that that frigging movie should have beaten ‘Taxi Driver,’ ‘Network,’ and ‘All The President’s Men’ for the Best Picture Oscar in ’76. Who were you boxing?”
“You were fighting Jesus?” I said. “The man died for our sins.”
“It was a dream,” he said. “It’s not like I jumped him in an alley and took his wallet.”
“Yes, but it means something,” I said.
“All right, shut up, Freud.”
“No, you shut up.”
“Hey,” Mitch said. “That squirrel’s eating a dandelion.”
“Yeah. Check this out,” I said, grabbing a dandelion. “Mama had a baby and its head popped off.”
“What are those squirrels doing?” Mitch asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “They’re coming to us. They’re usually not this friendly.”
“Uh, dude, they look pissed.”
Mitch and I were then mauled by the vicious pack of squirrels that had
been quietly living in the yard all summer. Someone once said that there’s
nothing more boring than hearing about someone else’s dream. Boring, yes,
and perhaps deadly when mixed with those pesky little yellow flowers growing
on the lawn.

July 18, 2001
Stars Threw Down Their Spears

It was March 10, 1938, the night of the 10th Annual Academy Awards. Fans gathered outside the Biltmore Hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite celebrities, and they were all in attendance: Humphrey Bogart,
Lionel Barrymore, Ginger Rogers, Greta Garbo, even little Mickey Rooney was dressed to the hilt.
But when Rooney screamed and pointed towards the roof of the building across the street, panic ensued. It was Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Carole Lombard, and Barbara Stanwyck, all standing on the roof holding spears. Within seconds, they began throwing a seemingly endless arsenal of spears. Stars and pedestrians alike fell victim to this heinous attack. But why? Why would our greatest stars, many of which were nominated, commit such an atrocity at the Oscars? Perhaps it was the competition.
Perhaps it was how stunning Ms. Rogers looked that evening. Perhaps we’d never know. Luckily, Hollywood had a group of heroes that night when the Marx Brothers flew in to save the day. Being gentlemen, our heroes could only take care of the men. For the women, it was Margaret Dumont and Mae West that they’d have to stand up to.

Within minutes, the battle was over, and Hollywood rejoiced as Ms. Dumont, Ms. West, Groucho, Harpo and Chico took their bows, and, not being nominated, flew home wishing for an invention that would enable them to
watch the Awards over dinner.