Starsky and Hutch Talk Chickens
07 Jun 1999
by
Flamingo

    "Y'know, Hutch," Starsky said to his lover, "There are times when livin' here at VenicePlace seems, well, a little too complicated."

    Hutch looked up from where he sat perusing the cable channels.

    "Complicated? Like how?"

    "Well, there's all those band practices. My red longjohns are gettin' kinda outta shape from havin' to wear 'em almost every day."

    Hutch rolled his eyes. "Please. The less said about band practice the better."

    "And then there's all the weird visitors that keep droppin' by when we least expect it," Starsky complained.

    "To be honest, Starsk, we've always had that problem. At least the place hasn't been ransacked lately. I'm beginning to think that extra security system HOS installed might actually be of some use."

    "Oh, it's of some use all right," Starsky said with a smirk, "and don't call her 'HOS.'"

    "And Flamingo does manage to keep the property up," Hutch remarked. "Though she's been so busy lately, she hasn't had time to hose off the sidewalk lately."

    Starsky nodded. "Sure wish I could talk her into washin' the Torino at the same time.... But you're right, Hutch. It's a great place to live over all. And I guess there's something to be said for bein' the only men in the building."

    Hutch gave up on the television when he couldn't find the station he was looking for. "Oh, you think so, huh?"

    "Sure!" Starsky said. "I mean all the ladies who live here are a little crazy, I admit, but they're real friendly, and we never have to do our own laundry, and there's always chocolate around, and it's kinda fun to always be asked to help open jars, and unstick windows, and do all those little things ladies need men around for." Starsky grinned.

    "Uh-huh," Hutch said, amused. "Of course, that's not what you said the last time our laundry came back and all your underwear was missing. And that time you watched the late late show with that crowd over at Mel's I nearly had to take you to the hospital to get your stomach pumped for chocolate toxity."

    Starsky shrugged. "Details, details. It's still good bein' the only guys here. Sorta like bein' special roosters watchin' over our own little chicken coop."

    "Chickens, huh?" Hutch mused. "That reminds me of a story. Wanna hear it?"

    Starsky nodded, and settled in. Hutch knew he was a sucker for one of his stories.

    "Well, Starsky, this farmer goes out one day and buys a brand new stud rooster for his chicken coop."

    "Don't tell me," Starsky said. "His chicken coop was called VenicePlace."

    "Most likely," Hutch agreed. "Well, when the young rooster arrived at his coop, the first thing he did was walk over to the old rooster and say, 'OK, old fellow, time to retire.'"

    "Humpf," Starsky sniffed. "I'd like to see some young stud just try to take over this place. Flamingo would have him stuffed for Thanksgiving Dinner!"

    "Uh...Starsk, Flamingo is a vegetarian."

    "Well, her dogs aren't."

    "Right. Anyway, the old rooster says, 'You can't handle all these chickens....look at what it did to me!' The young rooster replies, 'Now, don't give me a hassle about this. Time for the old to step aside and the young to take over.' The old rooster says, 'Aw, c'mon, just let me have the two old hens over in the corner. I won't bother you.'"

    "No way!" Starsky insisted. "Not in VenicePlace! And besides...hey, are you callin' me old?"

    Hutch sighed. "Can I please finish this? The young rooster says, 'Beat it! You're washed up! I'm taking over!' So, the old rooster thinks for a minute and then says to the young rooster 'I'll tell you what, young fellow, I'll race you around the farmhouse. Who ever wins the race gets domain of the chicken coop.'"

    "You mean VenicePlace."

    "If you insist."

    "Well, hell, it doesn't matter what they're driving, with the Torino, I could..."

    "They're chickens, Starsk, they're racing on foot. No cars."

    "Oh," Starsky said glumly.

    "The young rooster says, 'You know I'm going to beat you, old man, so what's the point?' The old rooster replies, 'Okay, just to be fair, give me a head start.' The young rooster agrees to this challenge. They line up in back of the farmhouse, one of the hens clucks 'Go'" and the old rooster takes off running."

    "You better not let the neighbors hear you calling them 'hens,'" Starsky warned. "I think it's code for something much nastier."

    Hutch nodded. "Who can keep track with this group? Anyway, about 15 seconds later, the young rooster takes off after the old guy. They round the front of the farm house and the young rooster is only about 5 inches behind the old rooster and gaining fast. The farmer, sitting on the porch, looks up, sees what's going on, grabs his shotgun and BOOM! he blows the young rooster to bits."

    Starsky stares at his lover, mouth agape, stunned at the sudden turn of the story.

    Enjoying the fact that he finally had Starsky's undivided attention, Hutch leaned forward and said, "Then the farmer sadly shook his head and said to his wife, 'Dammit, that's the third gay rooster I've bought this month!'"