Stanley
Imagine that the characters are speaking with British accents
Stan had small, beady eyes with a very vacant look to them. Judging by his rapid, jerky, head movements, he also had Tourette’s syndrome. These features were generally overlooked, however, by anyone admiring his lovely (though slightly dirty) white plumage.
Woman: “Why shouldn’t I call him Stan?”
Man: “It’s a chicken and we’re going to eat it.”
Woman: “Well he is a male chicken isn’t he? Anyhow, I suppose we need to slaughter him.”
Man: “Right, you hold him down and I’ll get a knife.”
Woman: “You’re just going to go and chop Stan’s head off? And I’m supposed to hold him?”
Man: “Yes”
Woman: “What if Stanley panics and bites me?”
Man: “Panics!”
Woman: “Yes, panics. Little Stanley’s going to see you coming at him with a great big knife.”
Man: “He won’t know what it’s for.”
Woman: “You think he doesn’t know! Little Stanley’s arteries getting severed, his gracious little heart spraying out my little Stany-Poo’s blood all over the clean grass!”
Man: “It’s a bird, woman, not your grandson. Stop calling it Stanley!”
Woman: “But it’s a nice name.”
Man: “AAAaaah!”
Woman: “Well, he certainly doesn’t look like a Harry, and I can’t abide Jack, it’s so utterly common.”
Man: “It’s a chicken! Call him, it, The Chicken!”
Woman: “Fine then.”
Man: “Now, if you don’t want to chop its head off how are we going to kill it?”
Woman: “Well, maybe you could snap his neck. Just one quick little twist, my Chicky-Poo wouldn’t have to suffer that way.”
Man: “Chicky-Poo?”
Woman: “It’s always best to end a relationship quickly, no nasty business later then.”
Man: “And just how will this chicken do something nasty when he’s dead?!”
Woman: “Well, he might give us Salmonella.”
Man: “Enough of this.”
The man grabs the chicken after a brief wrestling match, during which the woman is decidedly in the chicken’s favour.
Man: “Why are you rooting for him?”
Woman: “I can’t help it, I always feel sorry for the underdog.”
Man: “It’s. . . A . . . Chicken!!!” (The man simultaneously waves the chicken in the woman’s face)
The woman breaks down crying.
Woman: “I know! I know! It’s just he reminds me of my Great-Uncle Beatrice.”
Man: “I thought we agreed not to speak of him.”
Woman: “I never said that!”
Man: “I’ve had quite enough of this! I’m going to kill this chicken right now!”
The man begins to kill the chicken.
Woman: “You monster! You odious, filthy, murderous scamp! You viscously greedy little arthropod! You contemptuous, malevolent, nefarious, skinny little Ned!”
Man: “Alright mum! Alright!”
Woman: “Don’t you call me mum!”
Woman: “Is it dead?”
Man: “Yes, I’m sorry, what do you want me do about it?”
Woman: “Teriyaki or lemon pepper?”
Man: “What?”
Woman: “I said, Teriyaki or lemon pepper?”
Man: “Oh. Lemon pepper, please.”
Woman: “Right then.”
The woman walks off while the man begins plucking the chicken.
Stan had small, beady eyes with a very vacant look to them. Judging by his rapid, jerky, head movements, he also had Tourette’s syndrome. These features were generally overlooked, however, by anyone admiring his lovely (though slightly dirty) white plumage.
Woman: “Why shouldn’t I call him Stan?”
Man: “It’s a chicken and we’re going to eat it.”
Woman: “Well he is a male chicken isn’t he? Anyhow, I suppose we need to slaughter him.”
Man: “Right, you hold him down and I’ll get a knife.”
Woman: “You’re just going to go and chop Stan’s head off? And I’m supposed to hold him?”
Man: “Yes”
Woman: “What if Stanley panics and bites me?”
Man: “Panics!”
Woman: “Yes, panics. Little Stanley’s going to see you coming at him with a great big knife.”
Man: “He won’t know what it’s for.”
Woman: “You think he doesn’t know! Little Stanley’s arteries getting severed, his gracious little heart spraying out my little Stany-Poo’s blood all over the clean grass!”
Man: “It’s a bird, woman, not your grandson. Stop calling it Stanley!”
Woman: “But it’s a nice name.”
Man: “AAAaaah!”
Woman: “Well, he certainly doesn’t look like a Harry, and I can’t abide Jack, it’s so utterly common.”
Man: “It’s a chicken! Call him, it, The Chicken!”
Woman: “Fine then.”
Man: “Now, if you don’t want to chop its head off how are we going to kill it?”
Woman: “Well, maybe you could snap his neck. Just one quick little twist, my Chicky-Poo wouldn’t have to suffer that way.”
Man: “Chicky-Poo?”
Woman: “It’s always best to end a relationship quickly, no nasty business later then.”
Man: “And just how will this chicken do something nasty when he’s dead?!”
Woman: “Well, he might give us Salmonella.”
Man: “Enough of this.”
The man grabs the chicken after a brief wrestling match, during which the woman is decidedly in the chicken’s favour.
Man: “Why are you rooting for him?”
Woman: “I can’t help it, I always feel sorry for the underdog.”
Man: “It’s. . . A . . . Chicken!!!” (The man simultaneously waves the chicken in the woman’s face)
The woman breaks down crying.
Woman: “I know! I know! It’s just he reminds me of my Great-Uncle Beatrice.”
Man: “I thought we agreed not to speak of him.”
Woman: “I never said that!”
Man: “I’ve had quite enough of this! I’m going to kill this chicken right now!”
The man begins to kill the chicken.
Woman: “You monster! You odious, filthy, murderous scamp! You viscously greedy little arthropod! You contemptuous, malevolent, nefarious, skinny little Ned!”
Man: “Alright mum! Alright!”
Woman: “Don’t you call me mum!”
Woman: “Is it dead?”
Man: “Yes, I’m sorry, what do you want me do about it?”
Woman: “Teriyaki or lemon pepper?”
Man: “What?”
Woman: “I said, Teriyaki or lemon pepper?”
Man: “Oh. Lemon pepper, please.”
Woman: “Right then.”
The woman walks off while the man begins plucking the chicken.
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