In his airplane—the perfect embodiment of a flight-challenged bird's yearning for freedom—the chicken experiences a startled joy at being alive and headed for death. It radiates from him. Puffing above the clouds, the chicken finally feels what his longing heart has spoken of all these many years: power. The power to be who he wants, where he wants, how he wants.
And what he wants is for his wings to have—at last—purpose. (And if he can find a way for his, you know, things to have purpose too, well, that would be just fine.) He will fly his wings directly to you, hot with life's ebbing flame! The wings will be wild.
And he will fly evermore. In chicken heaven.
(Thanks to Dr. Pippi for the referral.)
Addendum: When he's not plying the skies in his magical airplane, Chickeman (sic?) hits the road in his prosaic van.
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