A guilt-ridden driver was cruising down a narrow country road when a rogue rooster darted in front of his car. Thump.
Feeling absolutely terrible, the man pulled over, scooped up the lifeless bird, and walked up to knock on the farmhouse door. When the grizzled farmer opened it, the driver began stammering out his confession.
“I am so incredibly sorry, sir,” the man pleaded. “I just ran over your rooster out on the main road. It was a total accident, but I want to make things right. I am more than happy to replace him.”
The farmer stared at the city slicker, looked him up and down, and scratched his chin.
“Well,” the farmer shrugged, “if you really want to go out to the backyard and try to mate with two hundred hens, be my guest. But personally, I think you’re better off just paying for a new bird.”
As it turned out, replacing a legendary rooster was no easy task.
A few weeks later, the farmer still had two hundred hens but zero chicks. Desperate, he visited a neighbor who claimed to have the ultimate solution: a premium, high-energy rooster named Randy.
“Randy is expensive,” the neighbor warned, “but he will service every single chicken you own. Guaranteed.”
The farmer laid out a hefty sum of cash and brought Randy home. Setting the bird down in the barnyard, the farmer gave him a gentle pep talk. “Alright, Randy, listen to me. You’ve got a massive workload here, and you cost me an arm and a leg. Pace yourself, buddy. Take your time and have some fun.”
Randy just blinked, turned toward the henhouse, and exploded out of the gate like a rocket.
WHAM! Randy tore through the henhouse, servicing every single hen three or four times over in a blur of feathers. The farmer watched in absolute shock.
Before the farmer could even process what happened, a wild commotion broke out in the duck pen. Sure enough, Randy was in there clearing house. By mid-afternoon, Randy was down by the lake, ruthlessly chasing a flock of wild geese. By sunset, the unstoppable bird was sprinting across the distant fields, hunting down quail and pheasants.
The farmer went to bed in a state of utter panic, terrified that his expensive investment wouldn’t survive the night.
Sure enough, the next morning, the barnyard was dead silent. The farmer rushed outside and found Randy lying flat on his back in the middle of the dirt—stone-cold stiff, legs in the air, with a wake of hungry buzzards circling lower and lower in the sky.
Heartbroken by the loss, the farmer walked over to the corpse, shook his head, and sighed. “Oh, Randy… I told you to pace yourself. I warned you to slow down, but you just wouldn’t listen. Now look what you’ve done to yourself.”
Suddenly, Randy cracked open one eye, glared at the farmer, and whispered, “Shhh! Shut up, old man… they’re getting closer.”
