01x05 - The Disappearance of Chicken Man

[bunniefuu]

JOHN LURIE:

So, I have a bird in my room.

He's right there,

and I don't know

how to get him out.

And I feel bad for him,

'cause I was chasing him around,

and now he's all exhausted.

It's like--

You could see it,

'cause he was like--

The bird was like (PANTS)

He had his mouth wide open,

like he was gasping for air.

I'm gonna give one last thing.

Hey, bird.

Can you see him?

Erik?

-ERIK MOCKUS: Yeah, I think

I can see him.

-JOHN: Yeah.

JOHN:

Yeah, you actually see him?

All right, I'm gonna-- I'm gonna

try to get you

out of here again.

I really feel bad about this.

But here we go.

No, no, no. That's not

where you wanna be.

You don't wanna be there.

I'm gonna move this.

Oh, you're gonna hang on?

What do you think is happening?

Oh, come on.

Just go outside.

Outside.

See, you come down

and fly outside.

I am your friend. (CHUCKLES)

Where did he go?

I feel terrible for him.

I would just leave it alone.

I don't wanna-- wanna sleep

with here-- in here with him.

(BIRDS SINGING)

So, I live on this

small island in the Caribbean.

I've been here for six,

almost seven years.

This guy Leroy,

I wasn't really

well enough to drive,

but I was trying to get

into the water every day.

And Leroy would drive me.

He used to live

in a different place

way on the top of this hill.

You go down this dusty road,

and there'd be kids playing

and chickens and baby pigs

running on the road.

Nice up there.

Leroy would pick me up,

and we would drive

down the hill to the water.

And we kept seeing this guy

skinny white guy.

He must have been 80.

And on a bicycle.

And he'd be going up the hill,

like "bump-bump-bump-bum--"

I mean just, like

so hard

that it was just, like,

you would look at him

and your mouth would fall open.

Like, this old guy

going up the hill

in 100-degree weather.

It's like, how is he doing it?

Why is he doing it?

You know, like,

is he doing it for his health?

Why is he doing it?

And then, one day, he was gone.

We saw him every day,

and then one day,

we didn't see him anymore.

And I said to Leroy

"Maybe he exploded."

And then we used to go

to this other place,

into this bay where Leroy

didn't like driving 'cause

it's a bumpy road

and he didn't like his van going

down this bumpy, bumpy road.

But we'd go there and buy fish

when the guys came in.

Like one in the afternoon,

they come in

with snapper and lobster.

And, uh, on the way there

there was this enormous bull.

I mean, this bull,

I'd never seen a bull like this.

Like, twice the size.

Just this majestic beast.

Just this giant, giant bull.

And he's in this pen.

And there's no houses or barns,

anything or anywhere

near this-- this bull.

We don't know

who's taking care of him,

or what he's doing there,

or what it's about.

And, uh

and one day, he was gone.

And then,

he was never there again.

So, these are the two things

that me and Leroy

would talk about,

is the size of this bull,

and about

and the guy on the bicycle.

And then they were just gone.

And we kind of felt

maybe we were responsible

for sending them off somewhere.

So then we tried

talking about

people we didn't like,

like my evil landlady,

to see if she would disappear.

But it didn't work.

She never disappeared.

And then

up at the top of this hill,

at the end of the road

there was this guy with

a little tiny homemade hibachi

that would sell chicken.

So, one day, we stopped

and we got chicken.

And Leroy complained

and complained and complained

and said, "This is no good.

Not enough spice."

And, uh and, uh,

he was really angry.

He started calling the guy

"chicken man" as an insult.

And then every day,

we wouldn't get chicken again

'cause Leroy hated it.

I thought it was okay,

but Leroy hated it,

so we weren't gonna get it.

And every time we'd drive by,

chicken man would wave,

so we would wave back.

Except we weren't buying

any more chicken. So

chicken man, when we

would drive by every day,

he'd be sitting on this road,

he'd see us coming,

and he would wave.

And then,

the waves got lower and lower,

until finally chicken man

would just sort of sit there,

and we would come by,

and he would just kind of go

He would barely, like,

lift his hand off his lap.

He'd just go

And we would wave back

with about the same enthusiasm.

And I said to Leroy,

I said, "You know what?

I'm gonna not wave

to chicken man anymore.

I'm tired of it."

And Leroy said,

"I think he's tired of it, too."

And I said, "Well,

let's not just stop waving.

Let's stop and tell him

we're not gonna wave anymore,"

'cause it didn't make any sense.

And Leroy said, "I think he'd

be fine with this arrangement."

So, we're coming up the hill

and we're about to go around,

and then chicken man was gone.

And we never saw him again.

So everybody we talked about

disappeared.

And we didn't see him for years.

And then Leroy heard

that he got a job

on the oil dung truck.

Oil dung is this

I mean, they take every

carbohydrate in the world,

like breadfruit and--

and rice and potatoes,

and they put it in a pot.

It's just like

a carbohydrate stew.

And, uh

and he got a job in a van

that drove around

and sold this-- this--

I think it's called oil dung.

I don't know what it's called.

Uh-- But we didn't see him.

And then we're driving home.

Sun's going down,

it's beautiful.

Flowers, and kids playing,

and little baby pigs

running around.

We're driving around,

and Leroy says,

"There's chicken man."

I don't see chicken man,

but there's this

fat, fat, fat guy.

I mean, he must have weighed

350 pounds.

Chicken man had been

I mean, you know, 180,

you know,

six feet, 190 pounds.

And now, there's this guy

at 350 pounds, his back to us,

walking away on the dusty road,

and he weighs 350 pounds.

And Leroy says,

"There's chicken man."

And I see this gigantic

bear of a man,

but I don't see chicken man.

I said, "Where?"

He said, "There."

I said, "Where?"

And so we pull up alongside,

and it is chicken man.

And from working on this truck,

selling this carbohydrate stew,

he's gained 200 pounds.

And there's a sadness

in his eyes,

and we look at each other,

and our-- our eyes meet

and nobody waved.

My dad died when I was 17,

and I spent a lot--

most of the time,

I was out of the house.

I kind of moved out.

And me and my mom would

sort of play this game of

who needed the other one more.

I mean

I wanted to be independent.

She wanted to show

that she was needed.

And, uh

you know, and then things

would get out of control,

and I'd have to come home

and she would wash my laundry,

and she would, you know,

feed me.

I remember-- I remember th--

Once being in Arby's

and thinking,

"One day, I'll be able

to afford two Arby's."

But I would go back home,

and she would wash my clothes,

and, you know, I'd eat, and then

we'd argue about something,

and I'd leave again.

And, uh

So, I had rented this apartment

from somebody

for, like, three days,

and they had a washing machine

in the basement,

so I washed my own clothes.

And when I went back home

with all my stuff

in a duffel bag

I got up in the morning, I saw

my mother had washed my clothes.

And I said,

"Mom, those were clean."

"Well, they didn't look clean."

"Well, you didn't

have to wash them."

"Yes, yes, they looked filthy,

I had to wash them."

"Okay."

Then I go and I put on

one of my two pairs of pants,

and the driver's license,

which were paper back then,

was ruined.

"Mom, you ruined my license."

She says,

"Well, all you have to do

is go to

the Registry of Motor Vehicles.

They'll give you another one."

So I go down there.

I had long hair,

which was, like,

in Western Massachusetts then,

there was eight people

who had long hair.

And, uh, it was a-- you know,

we were the renegades.

It was frowned upon.

And, uh

They said, "Oh, you have to see

Mr. Bluh-bluh-bluh-bluh."

I think his name was Toadfuck.

'Cause I sit down

next to this guy,

and it's just

he's just this--

You know, and it wasn't like

he looked like that

so that's what caused him

to act like he did.

It was like his mind manifested

into the face of Mr. Toadfuck.

It was just like

And he starts giving me

this sh*t about

(IN DEEP VOICE)

"You know, young man,

your license is a privilege.

It isn't your right."

(IN NORMAL VOICE)

And I'm like, "Do I really

have to listen to this?"

And then I just--

And I--

So I got fed up and I go,

"What,

is there a f*cking problem?"

And now, I've cursed.

And he's just like, "That's it."

You know, it's like--

And the next thing I know,

he must have pushed a button

under his desk or something,

but there's two

gigantic security guys

on either side of me,

and they pick me up

and they throw me

out on the street

like a-- like a-- like a drunk,

uh, you know, out of a bar.

They just throw me out like--

I don't think I fell

to the ground, but I could've.

I mean,

they really threw me out.

So I go back home.

My mom says,

"Did you get your license?"

I said, "No, Mom,

they threw me out."

"What do you mean,

they threw you out?"

"They threw me out."

"Well, they can't do that."

"They did."

"I'm going down there."

(CHUCKLING)

"Okay, Mom, you go down there."

And so she's gone,

and I'm waiting.

And, uh,

I'm starving, waiting for her

to come home and feed me.

She comes in the house

and just walks right by me.

"Mom, what happened?"

And she doesn't, you know

"Uh, Mom?"

And she's pissed.

"Mom did you get my license?

Mom, what happened?

Mom, did you get my license?"

"They threw me out."

(CHUCKLING) "What do you mean,

they threw you out?"

"They threw me out."

(LAUGHS) And I was just

laughing at her, you know, I--

"Wh-- what did you do?"

And she wouldn't tell me.

But yeah.

And I just laughed.

I mean, she had no idea.

I was so proud of her,

but I never told her then.

I guess I'm telling her now.

Yeah, Mom. (LAUGHS)

They threw her out.

I wonder what she did.

JOHN: Do you mind

telling the people at home

what a good and fair boss I am?