The rubber chicken traveled to Manhattan for a technical symposium and was held up in La Guardia airport waiting to return to his Midwest home. It was a rough few days of morning conferences and nightly dinners and parties. He had fun but was clucked out.
He walked into a bar and saw a chick that tickled his fancy. He has a thing for red-heads.
The rubber chicken told the bartender to deliver a Chardonnay, ordered himself a Manhattan, and sat next to her at the bar. He regaled her by reciting some of the poultry that he wrote.
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