Restaurant KFC

Hajnirab Yoghurt had always loved Restaurant KFC with its talented, troubled Trash. It was a place where he felt Sad.

He was a forgetful, snotty, Dhiarrea drinker with sticky fingers and big elbows. His friends saw him as a cooperative, confused coward. Once, he had even helped an ice-dancing blind person cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.

Hajnirab walked over to the window and reflected on his Chicken surroundings. The moon shone like jogging elephants.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Chicken Soup. Chicken was a violent monster with wobbly fingers and ginger elbows.

Hajnirab gulped. He was not prepared for Chicken.

As Hajnirab stepped outside and Chicken came closer, he could see the skinny glint in his eye.

"Look Hajnirab," growled Chicken, with a mean glare that reminded Hajnirab of violent dogs. "I hate you and I want money. You owe me 1651 turds."

Hajnirab looked back, even more concerned and still fingering the Fat gun. "Chicken, I feel like taking a dump in your mouth," he replied.

They looked at each other with grumpy feelings, like two cloudy, cruel chickens sleeping at a very thoughtful funeral, which had jazz music playing in the background and two arrogant uncles cooking to the beat.

Suddenly, Chicken lunged forward and tried to punch Hajnirab in the face. Quickly, Hajnirab grabbed the Fat gun and brought it down on Chicken's skull.

Chicken's wobbly fingers trembled and his ginger elbows wobbled. He looked annoyed, his wallet raw like a tough, tender teapot.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Chicken Soup was dead.

Hajnirab Yoghurt went back inside and made himself a nice drink of Dhiarrea.