The other day Mr. C. Cow and I drove through a town that had a chicken statue.
I thought that, maybe, the chicken had been some sort of historical figure. The world was a different time when the Chicken was alive. Back in 1743 Captain Chicken found himself surrounded by the great turkey hordes from the North. His rations as well the moral of his soldiers was low. Only armed with a corn kernel and his own drumsticks, Captain Chicken was able to defeat the invading poultry army. The villagers rejoiced in his victory and decided to erect a statue in his honor.
Mr. C. Cow thought he might be the founding chicken father of the village. A long time ago chickens would travel via wagon train to find a new home. Making his way through the dangerous swamps of North DaLafornia, Mr. Chicken came across a clearing. Here, he felt, was the perfect place to settle down. Maybe raise a few eggs. Build a few coops. Here, in this beautiful clearing, a village was born. In honor of founding the village they erected a statue in his honor.
How did this chicken statue get here? Who built it? Was he an important chicken? Our imaginations ran wild as we got back into the camper and sped off. After about an hour we realized something…..WE FORGOT TO READ THE STATUES PLAQUE!
Location: New Toulouse (M)
Today we ran into a bit of pink fog. I think this could possibly be the first time I have ever attempted to drive a camper through pink fog. It started to get so bad that we ended up having a slight accident and getting our back tires stuck in mud. Upon close inspection we found that we weren’t stuck in mud but in chocolate frosting. Not only was this our first time driving through pink fog it was also the first time chocolate frosting has stopped us.
In desperate need of a tow truck we walked a mile up the road in search of a town. If this day couldn’t get any weirder the only town we could find consisted of tiny ginger bread houses. I was extremely worried that no one would have a candy tow truck. Or a cookie tow truck. Any tow truck for that matter.
Just when we thought all was lost a small little cookie man came out of his cookie house, waved, and told us his name was Mr. Crumbly. After explaining our chocolate frosting issue he was more then happy to call up the local tow truck driver and direct us to the nearest cafe for a bite to eat.
After getting a camper stuck in frosting, walking a mile, and meeting the most delicious man to ever walk the earth I was famished. A nice healthy fruit tray with some cheese sounded amazing. Alas, the only thing the “Cookie Time” cafe served was various types of deserts. At this point I was slightly creeped out and frightened of our little cookie hosts. If he’s made out of candy and cookie and they serve cookies and candy at a cafe then where did this food come from? Was it the flesh of their enemies? I declined the food and settled for a water.
Two hours passed by and we were finally able to set back down the road. As we waved goodbye to our little cookie friends and looked out towards the milkshake mountains we thought about our strange day. Where did all that cafe food really come from?
Location: The Pink Dragon (G)