Born to be eaten. A lifetime imprisonment in a wire cage, culminating in an early retirement with an 8-piece Meal Deal and biscuits for a coffin. Such was the cycle at the The General’s Chicken Ranch, a penitentiary-style facility located in the hot and humid backwoods of the state formerly known as Georgia. Row upon row of prison cells, where the forlorn and feathered awaited their turn with dreaded apprehension for the day they too would take the ‘The Deep Fry’.

'THE FRISKY FRYER'

Chicken Rad was no exception.

But Chicken Rad was a breed above the rest. An experimental chicken, Chicken Rad was pumped full of steroids and growth hormones to be bigger, fatter, and juicier than any other chicken before him. Oh, the General had big plans for Chicken Rad. A lifetime of nothing but greasy poultry with all the fixin’s had degenerated the General’s body and cracked his feeble mind. After proving to be a succulent success, he was going to eat Chicken Rad, his final meal, before moving on to that great big 12-piece bucket in the sky.

What the General didn’t count on was that all of those drugs and hormones not only made Chicken Rad big, but they also made him strong, cunning and mean. Chickens are a cowardly lot by nature, but not Chicken Rad. He had an attitude, a presence, and when he said, "BAWK!", he wasn’t bawkin’ around. Under that cool leather and feather exterior lay the cold, calculated heart of a killer; a steel-hard giblet that desired nothing more than freedom and to right the wrongs of its unjustly imprisonment.

It was a stormy night when the General decided his time had finally come. He carefully lifted himself from his Art Linkletter Bercalounger and set about to personally take care of the task at hand. Armed only with a meat cleaver and a bottle of Wild Goose Hooch, he slowly made his way to Cellblock D to finish Chicken Rad, and end both of their despicable lives. But when he got there, a howl rose from his lips like that of a screaming caterwaul. It seemed his prize possession was, "Gone!"

Sirens wailed, dogs barked, searchlights frantically slashed through the night, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of this poultry in motion, but it was too late! Chicken Rad had flown the coop, disappearing into those Georgian backwoods leaving nary a tail-feather in his wake.

Something snapped within the General. A newfound strength seized him by the throat and throttled his senile mind. "BY HOOK OR BY CROOK, I WILL GET THAT CHICKEN!" he cried with purpose. He would scourge the ends of the earth, post a million-dollar bounty, plaster that feathered beak across the entire blighted country, anything to get that damned chicken!

And he refuses to die until Chicken Rad’s goose is cooked…

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