Saw this story on Facebook and thought you guys would laugh your keesters off.
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True story time..... and I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
Against my will, my wife thinks she's from the old Macdonald had a farm song. Decides she's going to keep chickens. In the past three years of losing chickens and listening to my wife cry every time a damn chicken dies, we have fortified the defenses of this monster of a chicken coop. This thing is nearly frigging indestructible. It's survived tornados, epic thunderstorms, lightning strikes, and I'm pretty sure a sasquatch has tried to get in it a time or two in the past. But again, its nearly indestructible because my wife has built this mother and I have fortified this bitch. I built a door with cedar boards, heavy duty gate latches that automatically catch when you shut the door, decking screws-not nails, and installed a solar chicken door that automatically opens in the morning when the sun comes up, automatically closes when the sun goes down. (Don't ask me how the chickens know to be in there when this thing closes, they just do)
So my wife decides to go out of town for some damn horse eventing bullshit.... whatever, she loves it, happy wife happy life. I get a text about an hour ago, "did you get eggs." To which my reply verbatim was "...............whoops. I'll go get them now, in the dark, with no headlamp, because you took both of them with you. And you better not have any warechickens that attack me in the dark, because I'll drop their ass." Luckily, my surefire was handy walking out the door.
So I go get these damn eggs. As soon as I open the door, these things are perched all over the place making sounds I didn't know chickens made. Like all 45 of the damn things. Staring me down like they are Chuck Norris chickens and I'm some middle eastern terrorist that hijacked a plane and I'm holding their passengers (eggs) hostage. I'm slowly and methodically retrieving eggs 1 by 1 into this basket like a 4 year old girl on an Easter egg hunt. I've gathered the eggs unscathed, time to walk out of the Fort Knox of chicken coops.
On a side note, most people that know me know I always carry 2 things with me everywhere I go. Either my Glock 19, 21, or good old 1911 and a pocket knife. Always a pocket knife because I'm fat and you never know when someone will have cheesecake to share. I ALWAYS have those 2 things on me. Ill forget my damn wallet, but never my pistol or pocket knife. Why a pistol? Because I can. Enough about that.
So here i am walking out of Diego Garcia Leavenworth Fort Knox chicken coop, strapped and ready for a warechicken to attack. That magnificent door I mention earlier...... only latches from the outside with its bad ass heavy duty hinges I decided to put on the effer. I go to push on the door........ well. Son. Of. A. Bitch.
While entering said secret military Island Federal penitentiary gold vault chicken coop, I thought, "you should pull the door behind you. If any chickens get out, they won't get back in. And God forbid nature takes its course and a predator gets one, of course it'll be my damn fault and I don't want to listen to my wife cry over a damn chicken."
So here I am when panic starts to set in. Chickens are still relatively docile and not attacking me yet, and thank God they aren't because I might start slashing or shooting... probably not in that order.but they do start making some weird noises I haven't heard before. My life flashes before my eyes because I'm home alone with the kid who is fast asleep and only 2 so she can't help anyways. Ill call Clint Teasley, he knows where I live. He'll come save me before these chickens turn me into chicken poop.... nah, he's out of town because he posted it on social media. Good Op Sec by the way buddy. OK ok, I'll call Daniel Schwartzenberg its an hour drive for him, but he's a good dude, he'll come save me....nah, I don't want to hear how his wife yelled at him for being gone 2 hours and leaving her alone with the kid at night out in BFE Tennessee. Got it, ill call Bobby Campbell he's 10 minutes down the road..... nope, I'll never live this shit down if I call him so that rules out Charles Greene Frank Carterand John Reese for that same reason - who also actually live 200 yards away. WTF AM I GOING TO DO??!!
So.....in my infinite wisdom, I called the wife who is 6 hours away and can't help. "Uuuuuuhhhhhhh, I have a problem."
Wife - "you locked yourself out of the house didn't you?"
Me -"no, its much worse than that. I can solve that problem."
Wife - "what the hell did you do!!??!? Is Haden ok?!?!?"
"Yes, she's fine, she's inside sleeping, but if something happens, i will not be able to get to her."
Meanwhile, turns out my wife does in fact have warechickens. They are getting noticeably more and more agitated with me talking, turns out-sound changes them into warechickens and not the moon. Still doesn't matter, I'm about to go full panic mode at this point.
"Amy..... I locked myself into the chicken coop."
I hear her and her friend Kathryn Hall Greenfield dying laughing. Of course she had me on speaker phone or was close enough for her friend to hear. I'm getting a little more agitated and my voice is getting a little louder the more I talk. Chickens go from being a little agitated to flapping their damn wings and making loud clucking noises. Its pitch black, I'm locked in a coop with 70 damn warechickens who are starting to get pissed......70 have now turned into what feel like 140.... chicken math my wife calls it. one whizzes by my head and I'm in super panic mode. Rooster screams at me.... I scream at rooster thinking if I'm louder and bigger he'll run away... nope... he's now flapping and flapping and his Peter Griffin looking ass is trying to spur me. I'm drawing my pistol at this point and its either going to be 16 dead chickens, or I will be chicken poop in the morning. I quickly realize that wells Fargo vault chicken coop might ricochet bullets and I will either end up taking a 147gr 9mm ricochet to the heart or I'll put an eye out. I also realize that the math doesn't add up.. i may get 16 chickens, but I'll still be chicken poop in the morning.Put the pistol back in holster..... another chicken whizzes by. I'm swinging at this point. No gun drawn, no knife in hand because I'm sure at this point I'd just end up stabbing myself in the eyeball or jugular, I would say that this is going to look like a suicide..... but it won't, I'll just end up as chicken poop. "I quickly remember my binge watching every karate kid and Cobra Kai two weeks ago. I'll just punch through this mother...... whelp, that hurt. Oh yeah, reinforced door. Didn't have any time to think about the pain because I'm getting attacked by 4 roosters now and God know how many damn chickens are steadily eating my feet and legs away, because crocs seemed like a good idea at the time.
My wife in her infinite wisdom and while laughing her ass off -"do you want me to call my mom to come let you out and save you?"... who by the way lives 300 yards away as well unfortunately.
This sets me off and I promptly yell - "DONT YOU DARE CALL YOUR MOTHER AND TELL HER I LOCKED MYSELF IN THE CHICKEN COOP!" (There were probably several other words in there, but I'm panicking fearing for my life and my 2 year old who may end up fatherless due to death by chickens and she may not survive either for 2 days without mom)I can only imagine the mother in law thinking, "God, why did my daughter marry this idiot."
Well, this also sets the chickens off.... I'm screaming, chickens are screaming, we're all just having a good time. As I stop screaming, I finally remeber the chickens are turning into warechickens with sound. So I gain my former Infantry Marine composure that I lost briefly. I realize that this is like sitting in an LPOP and I can't give away my postion. My phone conversation is now turning into a whisper and my fetching eggs mission has turned into a "I'm in the shit" SERE mission...... Literally...... at this point I'm covered in chicken shit.
So I'm cool, calm, and collected at this point. My wife tells me to reach through the Iron Curtain defenses of this coop and unlatch the door that way.... in fact, she's done it before. Well, that would be great if I had tiny ass racoon arms and hands like her, but no, I'm fat and have sledge hammers for hands.
Typically, I leave my MacGyver/Jack Ryan/Bear Grills/ Steven Segall "I'm building a bomb" Gerber tool in my truck. My wife took the truck to pull the horse trailer for her stupid horse show. But for some reason, father fate stepped in. Today, of all days, I picked up my Gerber multi tool instead of my knife, and put it in my pocket. I begin cutting what seems like is 2 gauge industrial cable. This is going to take a while.. Each snip causes the chickens to stir a little bit. But thats ok... I'll be patient and let them calm down before I make another snip. Ok, I have a hole big enough to fit my arm through. I blindly and quietly put in the pass code to unlock the bank vault door...... quietly step out.... quietly close the door, no chickens got out.... but at this point I'm ready for a coyote to eat every single one of them. Meanwhile......my wife and friend are still laughing hysterically at me. I have survived to fight another day and my kid is still sound asleep...... thanks for nothing kid. So now here I am, laying in the bath tub in the fetal position with the cold shower running..... chicken PTSD is real.”
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Good morning Chicky, try to have a great day... So sorry about Negan 
have a great Tuesday
but it something that must be done 
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