"What's up?" asks Clay Vega, the ABC reporter, as he walks into the shed where Henry Alpert is cutting PVC pipes.
"I'm about to test my new invention."
"I've done some inventing myself."
Last year, when Clay was a weekend anchorman, he became known around the station as the Boy Inventor because he had combined a lapel microphone with a boutonniere. He was quite proud of it until he poured water into the glass vial to revive a drooping bachelor's button and spilled some onto the microphone. After a frenetic two-step across the studio, stopping only when the microphone cord popped its plug, he trashed the boutonniere and yelled, "Flowers are for sissies."
"Let me get Rex Roney, my cameraman, to tape it. I think this will make a good human interest story," says Clay. He senses this might be a way to salvage the trip. The other reporters had left and he still isn't sure what the original story had been.
Rex and Clay have just finished planning the shots when Henry comes out of the shed. "Wait until I take a whiz," he says as he heads to the corner where the chicken wire meets the barn.
Clay walks over to join him, leaving Rex to fine tune his equipment.
"Watch out for the---"
"Aaaaagggggghhhhh!" cries Clay as he collapses to the ground and curls into the fetal position. A large wet stain appears at his crotch.
"---electric fence," says Henry.
"Next he'll be saying 'Whizzing in a barnyard is for sissies,'" mutters Rex. He has captured the electrifying moment on tape just as he had captured the boutonniere episode. This tape will join that one in the station's bloopers library and will be a big hit at the staff Christmas party.
"I'm a mess. I don't think we can do the piece," says Clay, now standing and tugging distastefully at his crotch.
"Nonsense," says Rex, figuring he can get a few more shots for the blooper tape. "I'll use a close-up for the interview."
They set up the shot in the barnyard facing out toward four-hundred free-range chickens. As Clay takes his position, Rex zooms in to frame a head shot. Henry stands by waiting for his cue.
"Good Evening. I'm Clay Vega and I'm standing with Henry Alpert in the barnyard of his farm in Beaver Valley, high in the North Cascades. You are about to witness a test of an egg gathering system that I have been told will revolutionize the poultry industry. Mr. Alpert, would you explain your invention?"
"Sure. I'll by happy to," says Henry. "First, I'm sure your viewers will be surprised to know that the poultry industry constantly reinvents itself, just like Microsoft. Currently, our purpose is to provide the consumer with free-range chickens instead of ones cooped up in tight quarters. However, for those of us who work in the egg collecting side of the business, it has been difficult to collect the eggs when the hens have been laying them all over the range."
"So... are you saying that you still keep the hens cooped up in their own little 'chicken condos?'" asks Clay.
"I prefer the term 'poultry penthouses,' because they're well fed and watered and they get medication on a regular basis."
"You mean, like antibiotics and steroids?"
"I... ah... I don't want to go there."
"Okay... So, are you telling us this new invention will improve the collecting of eggs from free-range chickens?"
"You betcha! In fact, I think this invention will be so significant that it has a good chance to win the poultry industry's top award: the Pullet Surprise," says Henry as he walks into the field. Clay waddles along side, holding the microphone in front of Henry and frantically signaling to Rex to keep the shot above his waist.
Rex suspects that Clay had also dropped a load in his skivvies when he wet himself, so he zooms back to get a wide angle shot for the bloopers.
"I am standing among the nest-pots, which I made out of two-hundred thunder mugs," Henry continues. "I cut---"
"Excuse me for interrupting," says Clay. "Perhaps, you could explain to our viewers what a 'thunder mug' is."
"'Thunder mugs' is the farmers's term for the enameled metal commodes that they kept under their beds so they wouldn't have to go outside during the night. Since most farms now have indoor plumbing, thunder mugs are seldom needed and so I got a real deal on these beauties on eBay.
"Anyway, I cut a hole in the side of each one near the base and welded a flange to the outside to hold the PVC pipe. Then I fit pairs of nest-pots into PVC Y's, then pairs of Y's into other Y's, until they were connected to one pipe that runs into my shed. It's what the poultry scientists call a binary nest-pot tree.
"As the viewers can see," Henry continues, pointing to the nest-pots, "I've covered the nest-pot rims with beaver fur that I trapped up on the north-east corner of my farm. I've done this to make them more attractive, which will encourage the hens to nest there."
"Isn't the beaver an endangered species?" asks Clay. "Some locals say there aren't any to be found in Beaver Valley."
"Boy, I hope they're not endangered. I'm going to need plenty of them when the poultry industry egg collectors adopt my Modern Egg Sucking System nationwide."
The trio moves into the shed and Rex adds a floodlight to his camera.
"We are now in the shed where the actual egg collecting will be done," says Clay. "Mr. Alpert, are you ready to proceed?"
"Yes. As the viewers can see, I have hooked together sixteen industrial strength Hoover vacuums in a configuration similar to the binary nest-pot tree configuration they saw outside. This allows all of them to suck on the same pipe and, I have been told, there should be enough power to suck the chrome off the grille of my 1956 Buick. Also, to prepare these machines for this test, I lined the canisters with straw to cushion the eggs when they are sucked in; and I removed all filters, governors, and safety features."
Henry hits the switch.
Suck... suck... suck... foop... suck... foop... foop... foop goes the Modern Egg Sucking System.
"The noises you hear are the eggs coming in," Henry yells above the roar of the machines. He scurries around Hooverville, cranking up each machine. "Let's see what this baby can do at the Super Suck setting."
SUPER SUCK... SUPER SUCK... FOOP... SPLAT... FOOP SPLAT... FOOP SPLAT goes the Modern Egg Sucking System.
"I think I've got to soften the landings for the next test," yells Henry.
SUPER SUCK... SWIZZLE... DRIZZLE... SUPER SUCK... SWIZZLE... DRIZZLE goes the Modern Egg Sucking System.
Because all filters, governors, and safety features had been removed, the Modern Egg Sucking System is now spraying the rafters with a slurry of egg shells, whites, and yolks. Soon, that is joined by a cascade of chicken feathers, chicken manure, and some stuff that looks a lot like chicken entrails. Most of the slurry does not remain on the rafters, but is now dripping down onto Clay Vega, whose microphone is now draped with chicken intestines and a gizzard or two. Rex thinks this will be the greatest blooper tape ever seen at the station.
SQUAWK... SQUAWK... SQUAWK! A chorus of shrieks echoes across Beaver Valley, loud enough to be heard above the roar of the Modern Egg Sucking System.
Henry and Clay run outside. Rex pans around to aim at the barnyard through the shed door.
SQUAWK... SQUAWK... SQUAWK! The free-range chickens flap their wings in terror as the Modern Egg Sucking System sucks them into two-hundred, beaver-fur-lined, nest-pots.
Henry runs back inside to shut down the vacuums.
GARGLE... Gurgle... guggle goes the Modern Egg Sucking System as it releases the suction on the two hundred free-range chicken butts.
The chickens, their little chicken butts plucked clean by the Modern Egg Sucking System, stagger around the barnyard, looking a lot like a chicken version of a Hustler Magazine layout. The chickens who hadn't been able to sit on the nest-pots stand around cackling-- the chicken equivalent to hysterical laughter.
Henry stares in disbelief at the disaster area. He hadn't expected it to be this bad, although he expected he would have to perform many tests to get the design right. He consoles himself with the thought that all great inventors have failures before their successes.
"You've accomplished what the federal government has been unable to do," says Clay, as he starts toward Beaver Lodge to get cleaned up.
"What's that?" asks Henry.
"You put a chicken in every pot."
Henry walks around the barnyard until he finds the poor chicken who'd given her all for the advancement of poultry science. He cuts her throat with his jack-knife and hangs her on a nail on the side of the shed to bleed out. He will have her for supper that night.
Rex stows his gear in the ABC truck and turns it around to head home. He stops next to Henry and rolls down the window. "You should do something about this mess. I mean, you've got two hundred chickens with their poor little pin-feathered butts poking into the wind." He drives away toward Beaver Lodge thinking, "If there was an Emmy for bloopers, I'd be a shoo-in."
Henry heads to the barn mumbling to himself, "I'll betcha Bag Balm will soothe plucked chicken butts."
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