Corey Smash shows up at your door. He's wearing a tool belt, which holds a machine gun and a half-dozen spice bottles.

"YO! So you were the dude who wanted to cook chicken, RIGHT?! Where is it?!" He demands in his fake, manly voice. You feel almost overpowered just at the sight of him.

"Where is what?" You ask timidly, blinded by him. His eyes bulge and burn, his muscles flex (even though he's just standing still) and smoke seems to curl from his angular nose.

"The chicken! I need to see the damn bird!" His voice could have shattered rubber.

You stare wildly around for your meat. Zorro, thankfully, had decided to go off chicken for a while, and was cooped in his bed by the sofa. You go to the fridge, pull out the bald, sad looking thing, and slap it down on the side-table.

"I-I pre-heated the oven for a start." You mumble.

"No need. Chicken is best on an open FIRE!" He laughs and commands simultaneously. Suddenly, he produces a lighter and a bottle of whisky from his tool belt. You gulp.

"Go fetch wood for the fire. It needs to be BIG. And when I say BIG, I mean HUMONGOUS." Corey booms. You nod helplessly and run outside to fetch some twigs and the like.

When you get back, Corey is dissatisfied with your collection, and goes out to his car to get a log he brought. You gulp again and remember to turn off the oven before it gets too hot for no reason.

After a few explosions of fire and girlish yelps later, the fire is lit and burning well in the center of your kitchen. Poor you, it's going to leave a mark.

"Now, I see you tried to make a mace, but it looks PATHETIC. You FAIL at mace-making." Corey hasn't ever heard of subtlety. "We will use my gun instead." He waves a vague hand at the M240 the marines usually use during warfare resting on your countertop.

You begin to voice your worries about using the weapon to 'tenderize' your meal, but Corey only gives you a burning, eye-bulging look and you shut up immediately. There could have been lasers coming from those eyes, but you aren't sure.

"Now, here comes the fun part."

Corey Smash sets the gun on a tripod, kicks the chicken to the floor and into a corner, and takes his aim. You realise at that point you should have some protection over your ears, like him, but since he's just about to fire, you make do with your fingers.

A painfully loud drumming noise screeches through your house, making Zorro bark and you scream like a little girl. The chicken looks mangled after only a few seconds, but Corey is enjoying himself too much. He begins to move around the room, breaking windows, pictures in frames, and ricocheting bullets off each and every wall. A mad grin has settled on his face, and you wonder if this guy's taken his medication today.

The End

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