• My bed had lavender sheets, a huge pillow, and a black blanket. On it, you could see the whole neighborhood. I, was trapped in my closet. My girlfriend locked me in here. And the worst thing, she's taking my Roosters. She's taking all of them, their little porcelain beaks crying out for help. No, Roosters wouldn't cry. They would scratch and peck to freedom. I have, a sort of infatuation with Roosters. Make that an obsession. My obsession is like the opposite of a phobia. I must have them with me.
    “Holy crap George! How many of these do you have?” My girlfriend, the Rooster snatcher said. I didn't answer, instead I tried to speak to them telepathically. I failed. Here I am, trapped in a closet, when my precious roosters are being sent to a worse fate than if they were at KFC, which is by the way an atrocious place.
    “This is for your own good.” She said. I felt around in my closet, and noticed something feathery. My Rooster suit! I struggled to put it on, which I must say is extremely difficult in a dark closet. So I sat there in my closet, fully equipped in fowl armor.
    “Rooster socks! Come on George!” I heard the sound of a bag full of stuff jingle and drop out the door. She opened the door, and I bursted out with birdlike passion. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. I ran for the door, but she jumped in front of it.
    “George, you can either go get you're chickens-”
    “Roosters.”
    “or we can make out. Your choice.” The chicken suit was a little itchy anyway.