Peeping Tomfoolery, Petty Thievery & a bowl of piping hot Purina Instant Rooster Chow at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

Peeping Tomfoolery, Petty Thievery & a bowl of piping hot Purina Instant Rooster Chow at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

I thought that New Year’s would bring new resolutions and new behavior to the chickens (and roosters) of Fernbrook Resort.

But I guess not.

What was it this time?

Well, the morning hours of January 22nd, 2015 saw another incident of peeping tomfoolery at famous Fernbrook Resort of Freelton.

Yup.

It was alleged by a human neighbor that one overly chubby male chicken (or rooster) was seen opening a neighbor’s shed in the dead of morning. Before THE sun was up. Grabbed a little something from the shed’s inventory, stuck it under his wing, and flew off to crow about it.  

Which sounds strange.

Now it is a zoological fact that whenever sober, rooster’s rise before the crack of dawn. So this scenario sounds entirely plausible.

But it is also a zoological fact that roosters don’t use tools.

Roosters don’t have hands so they can’t use tools. Yes, roosters are incredibly unhandy. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that a rooster quit his job as a handychicken to hide the fact that he wasn’t handy at all. That it was the humans he worked beside that were handy. And that he is just all wings. Riding the coattails of his co-workers accomplishments and claiming them for his own. But when they left their job… he had to quit too. Or get plucked himself. Which would have been a massive blow to his giant waffle (or ego).

The thing is, is that it just might get worse for Rooster. Unless he wants to sit down over a bowl of piping hot Microwaveable Purina Instant Rooster Chow™ (now with extra larva) and discuss his narcissistic personality disorder that is.

If rooster is not going to turn over a new leaf, if he’s going to keep acting like a chicken, then he is going to get seriously plucked.

Cock-a-doodle-OUCH, my poor waffle!!!!

Justin Timberlake, Justin Bieber noted in Fernbrook Resort Freelton State of the Union Address

Justin Timberlake, Justin Bieber noted in Fernbrook Resort Freelton State of the Union Address


A contrite Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort, Doc Ballard, sporting a stylish Gucci choke chain and a pair of Versace booties that were to die for, once again spoke to the masses.

“First off I want to address those ugly rumours about my being in rehab for abusing cat food and other cat products. Nine lives my ass… I categor… err… dog-gone-it I definitely… definitely deny those awful allegations. I don’t touch that stuff. And all you young pups out there, you stay away from it too. It’ll wreck you. Stay in obedience school.”
   
The Lord Mayor trailed off and turned to an aide and yipped softly under his breath, “Think they bought it? Damn straight they did. We ready? Ok then, lets roll…” then, much louder, “Fryers, Roasters and Broilers lend me your ears, I come not to burn chickens but to braise them…”

Here another aide rushed over to the mike, covering it with his hand, and began whispering into the Lord Mayor’s ear.

“Ooops. Heh heh. My bad. That was my speech for the graduating class over at Colonel Sanders Elementary. If you could just bear with me for a moment…” then after shuffling a few pages, “There it is okay. Let’s try this puppy again. Take Two. Madam Chairwoman, People with long hair, Members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, my fellow Fernbrookarians:

This past year in Fernbrook Resort, we have flung much dog feces, both desiccated and fresh, and in so doing we have lifted lift Fernbrook’s feces fling rate to its highest level in more than three decades.

Smokers have flipped cigarette butts onto our lawns and roads at an impressive rate, doing their part to add to the more than eight million cigarette butts already deposited over the past four years.

Vandals damaged some of the best, and finest, personal property in Our resort, bringing the mindlessness of vandalism to impressive new lows. Let’s damage our neighbours stuff to show them that we’re mad, but too chicken to tell them what we’re mad at them for.  

The gossipers are preparing for a bountiful spring after the strongest five-year stretch of gossip creation in our nation’s history. Which bodes well for an economy primarily fueled by the sale of rumours to tabloid media.

And right now across our great nation, fathers and mothers are tucking in their chicks, putting an arm around their hen, and remembering fallen comrades, all while giving thanks for living in a place where a large number of human beings can live side by side with a few chickens (and at least one rooster). Tolerating their bird-brained behaviour.

That’s why I believe this can be a breakthrough year for Fernbrook. After years of grit and determined effort Fernbrook Resort is better-positioned for the 21st century than any other nation on the east side of Highway Six.

As Lord Mayor, I’m committed to making Fernbrook Resort work better, and rebuilding the trust between the people and the chickens who put me here. I believe most of you are, too. But if things don’t work out… don’t blame me. Or yourselves. Blame one of those Justins. That Bieber douche. Or the Timberlake one with the hot wife... don’t all those Justins look alike? I can’t tell the difference between them. Seriously. And no, that don’t make me racist just because I can't tell one Justin from another. They all look alike. Go look at a bunch of Justins. You’ll see. Anyway, if we work together; if we summon what is best in us, with our feet planted firmly in today but our eyes cast towards tomorrow – I know it’s within our reach. Believe it.

God Bless you, and God bless Fernbrook Resort.

Thank you and Good Night.

Bizarre Remarks From Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort Freelton in Annual State of the Nation Address

On the First Day of the New Year it has been a longstanding tradition that the Lord Mayor of the tiny nation of Fernbrook Resort Freelton deliver an address on the state of its affairs to an increasingly disinterested world.  

Taken from an internet feed, following is a transcript of that brief address filled with rather bizarre statements.

The Lord Mayor, Doc Ballard, a long-haired mongrel of undetermined parentage, stumbled twice before he reached the podium. Recently the Lord Mayor has faced allegations of drug abuse including the sniffing of catnip, smoking furballs and free-basing Little Friskies™. All of which he has denied.


“Hey, everyone… welcome to two thousand and fifteen.
     The Future.
     You know what…
     Pardon my French but what the hell is so great about the future?
     Growing up I was told that scientists would build a future filled with cool stuff. And cool things to do. You know… like space travel. That we would be zipping around space. Travelling to other planets. Hanging out with cool aliens.
     And that we would be travelling through time.
     Fixing those things that once went wrong.
     Hoping each time that the next leap would be the leap home.
     That all food would come in pill form. Just add water and you get a freakin’ meal. All from a compact little capsule.
     … and flying cars.
     I got up this morning and checked my front lawn and still the same old Yugo. Where the hell is my flying car scientists!?!
     I want my flying car.
     And. I. Want. It. Right. Now.
     Hey, and you know what…? I weighed my Yugo the other day. A Yugo is supposed to weigh 1850 pounds. But mine only weighs 1680. Where the hell is the other 170 lbs? Where’d it go?
     I think that scientists stole it.
     And another thing, whenever I open a new box of cereal … the top third of the box is empty. It’s missing. Contents may settle on shipping my ass. I think scientists have been breaking into my home when I’m at work, eating my cereal, stealing the prizes inside and then resealing the box. Thinking that I wouldn’t notice. Oh, but I noticed.
     And some of my mail is missing. I know that I should be getting more mail. Where is it?
     And why is my phone bill so high? I know that I’m not making all those calls.
     It’s the Scientists.
     They break into our houses when we’re at work.
     They steal metal from our cars to build spaceships and then they zoom all over the universe… eating our cereal… and reading our mail. And all the while running up our long distance phone bills… What the hell right do they have to be reading my mail? And I want those prizes back…”



At this point the Address ended rather abruptly as the Lord Mayor was dragged off the podium.