Turds or Tunes? It’s a toss-up for the Great and Powerful Rooster of Fernbrook Resort Freelton

Turds or Tunes? It’s a toss-up for the Great and Powerful Rooster of Fernbrook Resort Freelton

How about a song about turds?

“This is frickin’ ridiculous,” the Great and Powerful Rooster was overheard tearfully remarking to a friend. “First it was Neil Diamond and now it’s Van Morrison.”

"I feel so sad!" remarked Rooster

“They’re both good songs,” Mr. E Friend replied quite truthfully. “Great in fact.”

“But the songs should be about me. I invented turd terrorism,” he sniffed loudly, “so they should be writing songs about me. Not about these two nobodies that are just copying what I invented and what I and my family and friends do…

     …at the very least they should name turds after me,” Rooster added after a long pause.

“You want turds to be named after you,” Mr. E Friend asked. “Turds.”

“Exactly.” Rooster sniffed even more loudly. “Because I deserve it.”

“You deserve to have turds renamed after you?”

Rooster rues the cruelness of the world.

“Yeah… That fire cocktail was named after Molotov. And look how famous he is.”

“But you know... Molotov didn’t actually invent the petrol bomb. In fact it wasn’t even named after him. It was named for him. As an insult. After that stupid pact he authored with Von Ribbentrop that eventually helped Germany torch the USSR,” Mr. E Friend answered truthfully.

“But everyone knows who he is. He’s famous. Everybody knows him,” Rooster repeated loudly.

“He’s long dead. And Molotov wasn’t even his real name. So, truthfully, very few actually remember who he was.”

“I don’t care,” Rooster shouted loudly, “I want a song written after me. I want it I want it I want it,” he kept saying as he stomped his feet loudly while walking a tight circle. “I want it I want it I want it I want it.”

“Can’t you just write one yourself? A song. Or perhaps a short poem?” Mr. E Friend offered.”

“No. No no no no no,” it has to be someone else. And someone better than Diamond or Van Morrison. Someone like… like… the Village People. Or Milli Vanilli. Or or or… or the Backstreet Boys. No one’s better than them.”

“Yeah but I don’t think…”

“I don’t care,” Rooster screamed, “I want a song written after me and I want one now. And until someone does I’m going to hold my breath and die. Than the world will be sorry.”

The Great and Powerful Rooster throws himself on the ground in a pique of rage.

Then the Great and Powerful Rooster of Fernbrook Resort Freelton took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks and closed his pointy beak-mouth

“How long are you going to hold your breath for?” Mr. E Friend asked.

“Until turds are named after me or until someone writes a song about me,” Rooster replied gasping for air as he opened his mouth.

“You just breathed.”

“Shut up,” Rooster replied opening his mouth again.

“You just breathed again,” Mr. E Friend repeated again.

“Mmmph mmmph mmmph,” Rooster said with a closed mouth.

“You’re breathing through your nose,” Mr. E Friend said, “And I can see your chest moving.”

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Will this be the end of the Great and Powerful Rooster?

Will turds be renamed in the honor of the Great and Powerful Rooster?

Or will someone write a song about this inventor of Turd Terrorism and in doing so save his life?

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“I hope turds are named after me,” Rooster said interrupting the narration.

“You just breathed again,” Mr. E Friend noted once more.

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up,” Rooster crowed angrily.

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So stay tuned for the next stupid and boringly ridiculous episode of the Secrets of Fernbrook Resort Freelton.

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“I’ll take the song… maybe the song is better,” Rooster added as an afterthought

.

“You’re still breathing.”