The Kicker

Adolph O'Flanagan scratched his left ankle with his right foot as he waited for the residents of 1038 Arabian Circle to answer the doorbell. Of the other five hundred and eighteen houses in the Azeroth Arms complex, only three had answered the door, and only one had actually listened. Unfortunately, she didn't speak English, and the only Spanish Adolph knew was "desenchufe por favor el gato... que ahora se carga completamente," and, well, that wasn't really gonna get his daughter any less ugly. Which meant that poor little Wilhemina's plastic surgery depended entirely on the closing of this sale.

"Can I help you?"

"Is the man or woman of the house home?"

"Uh... no. But we do have a fat, stupid roommate who'd buy a three-wheeled car without an engine if you want to talk to him."

"May I?"

"Sure. One second."

The young man turned.

"JOSE, YOU FAT FUCKING BASTARD! DOOR!"

He turned back to Adolph.

"He'll be right down, have a seat."

The young man opened the door the rest of the way and showed Adolph to one of the three folding chairs that comprised what he assumed was the living room. After a few moments of quiet and being ignored, Adolph heard the second story floorboards screaming bloody murder. Following their cries across the ceiling and down the stairwell he eventually laid eyes on a fat sack of crap. He assumed this was Jose.

"Jose?"

"Yah?"

"My name is Adolph O'Flanagan and I'm here today to present to you a one-of-a-kind, never-before-seen-on-this-good-earth product, sure to revolutionize your mornings, your evenings, and, hell, your afternoons, too. Are you interested in finding out what I'm talking about, Jose?"

Jose grunted. Adolph continued.

"What I've got here, right here," he pointed at the large wicker steamer trunk between them, "is guaranteed to change your life. What I've got here is the Ogelthorpe HL, a fully-functional, walking, talking mechanical chicken. You will never again be without eggs, you will never again be late for work, or school, or brunch on Sundays. Ditched on a weekend? From the looks of you, I'd say it happens a lot. But fear not, my friend, this here," he opened the case and took out the Ogelthorpe HL, "is your new best friend. And, if needed, it's not afraid to be a friend with benefits."

Jose tried not to smile. Adolph tried not to laugh.

"This is the ultimate in security and safety, in your car, in your house, on the street. The Ogelthorpe HL will protect you from muggers and murderers and all kinds of other sorts of danger, plus it'll fly you free of anything and everything else. And--and this is the kicker, Jose--though the Ogelthorpe *is* made of metal, this is a radical all-organic, vitamin-packed, regenerative metal... THAT CAN BE EATEN! Imagine that! Just tear off a wing and it'll grow right back!"

The skinny, smart young man walked into the room upon overhearing that.

"You can fry it, bake it, broil it, whatever you want," continued Adolph. "With the Ogelthorpe HL at your side, you're never more than arm's length away from a healthy, delicious meal."

Jose slumped in his seat.

"You OK, son?"

Jose slumped farther.

"Excuse me a second," said the skinny, intelligent young man who had answered the door. "You said that'll keep us from being late for work?"

"Well, yes, among a myriad of other things..."

"So, it's like an alarm clock or something. Or, I guess, in this case, a rooster."

"Um, sure..."

"And you're selling it?"

"Yes..."

"So that would make you a cockmonger, correct?"

"What?!"

"You're a cockmonger."

"What the hell is wrong with you, kid, I'm selling you the key to ending world hunger..."

"Heheh," chuckled Jose, "Cockmonger."

"Ah, good, Jose, you're back with us. Why don't we ignore your ignorant roommate here and get back to..."

"HAHAHAHA COCKMONGER!"

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"COCKMONGER!"

Jose fell over laughing.

"You stupid fucking kids."

Adolph packed up the Ogelthorpe HL.

"You wouldn't know a good deal if it stabbed you in the armpit with a blunt knife. I hope you're late for work tomorrow, and the day after, and then I hope you starve to death in a snowstorm in the middle of July."

"COCK..."

Jose literally bust a gut and threw up on Adolph's sandals.

"You son of a bitch! These were brand new!"

He kicked Jose in the stomach, which prompted him to vomit again.

"Fuck!"

"Why don't you get the chicken to clean 'em," replied the not-doubled-over-on-the-floor young man, as he opened the front door. "Or better yet, just leave."

"You guys are retarded, both of you. Do you have any idea what the Ogelthorpe can do? Do you have any idea what kind of an opportunity I'm presenting you?"

"Yes. Now go."

Adolph stepped outside and turned to get a final word in, but the door was quicker. That didn't stop him.

"Fucking kids!"

Jose threw up a puddle of blood and died. The other young man shook his head.

"Fucking salesman."