"Where can I get some chickens," the teenage
town dweller asked his friend with a mischievous grin on his face?
"Chickens, what do you want chickens for," his
country friend questioned?
"The Virus is having a dance next Friday and they
want a buck and a quarter or a chicken to get in." the first boy said.
"They're not even worth the price of a
chicken," his friend replied.
But as fate would have it, the farm boy was summoned to
help his neighbor cull chickens before the wing ding was to occur. Culled
chickens were generally older, scrawny specimens that coyotes would turn
their noses up at, in short perfect candidates for the job. A dozen such
doomed cluckers were chosen; the only thing left was to allocate chickens to
a limited number of friends.
It was decided the city boy's house would be used as a
rendezvous point the evening the social event was to transpire because his
parents were both gone to work. The whole affair was kept on a strict need
to know basis; and parents definitely did not need to know.
Carloads of excited youths began to arrive, more teens
than chickens. Some unfortunate individuals had to be turned away because
they hadn't spoken for a chicken earlier. Several vehicles left with their
occupants vowing to return with their own chickens.
The dance was well underway when the group of laughing
youths sauntered down the hall, proudly displaying chickens in their arms.
Parent sponsors collecting money at the door were not informed about
chickens being accepted as payment; so the whole idea was preposterous to
them. Upon further inquiry it was found to be true. The chickens were
unceremoniously plopped into the band's equipment van and the chuckling
youths were admitted into the dance.
Total revenues for the band that week were $64.75 and 27
chickens. The members of the group further complained about having to clean
up chicken droppings from their musical instruments. For some reason they
never asked for chickens as an admittance fee again.