Chris Baranick

2016-09-08 16:09:47 -0400

There was once a farmer who had a henhouse. Mr. Farmer had always ran and protected his henhouse well. He protected his henhouse against invasive predatory species, such as wolves, coyotes, and weasels. It was another ordinary day, or so Mr.Farmer thought, as he started to do his rounds for the day. Mr. Farmer approached the henhouse, and to his surprise, there was a single file line up of weasels waiting at the door.



A mechanical voice was playing on repeat over a loud speaker stating that his henhouse was racist for not being diverse. His henhouse was being commandeered by the Council of Farmers. He was ordered by the Council of Farmers to let the weasels in.



“Hey, them weasels gon’ be killin’ ’ol ma chickens!”, Mr. Farmer exclaimed as he raised his .22 varmint rifle.



Ready, aim, … “ STOP !”, buzzed a voice from a loudspeaker, interrupting Mr. Farmers aim.



“Two wrongs don’t make a right, remember the Golden Rule, everyone is equal in our society. And we wouldn’t want you to accidentally hit one of your hens either.”, proclaimed the invisible loud speaker. Two telescopic mechanical hands extended from the ground and grabbed Mr.Farmer’s rifle right out of his hands. “This is for your own good as well as for the protection of the hens”, screeched the loudspeaker, as Mr.Farmer was lifted by the mechanical hands and ever so gently hurled into his farm house.



“This is for your own good as well as for the protection of the hens.”, repeated the loudspeaker as the mechanical hands began throwing debris at Mr.Farmers door in an attempt to barricade him inside.



Mr.Farmer was trapped, he had no food and no way of protecting himself. Days passed, and the death clucks of the hens became less frequent and the sound was replaced with the chitter-chatter of weasels.



Then one day, as Mr.Farmer was lying on his deathbed, he was awoken to sound of mechanical arms digging a new path into his prison. The familiar buzz of the loud speaker was in the distance, getting closer… and closer, but no voice could be heard.



Mr. Farmer watched in horror as a hole was excavated in his bedroom wall. The buzz of the silent loud speaker was interrupted by the chitter chatter of weasels. Weasels squealing, shrieking, and laughing from the loud speaker. The eyes of weasels glinted through the hole in his wall as the room filled with an ever growing crescendo of chattering. Telescopic mechanical arms emerged from the hole, tapping their talons together in anticipation, and Mr.Farmer’s room was flooded with a living sea of weasel fur. The maddening sound of the weasels was overtaken that day, only by the screams of Mr.Farmer, as he lay helpless, eaten alive.

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