Wha’!? Raving lunatics!

Okay, I have to admit that when the spacepod crash-landed, I wasn’t entirely sure where I was – but I did realise I was somewhere High Command hadn’t intended me to be. Having reported that the spacepod is beyond repair, High Command have recommended I stay where I am since incoming alerts inform them this bit of the Earth’s crust is full of interesting possibilities. Well, that’s how they put it.

I know I previously referred to this place (as you know, an undercover operative cannot disclose her whereabouts) as the Land of Oz and specified it wasn’t Australia - but that really was the wrong sort of description. There is no yellow brick road (there are however numerous dirt tracks), there are a gazillion wicked witches and, if there’s a good witch and a wizard, I haven’t found either of them. As for the local munchkins, well, they’re more like school of snarling piranhas!

Truly, the humans in this neck of the woods are something else. They’re self-absorbed, arrogant, out to do each other in at every opportunity and, think a life that gets in the way of theft or personal gain is one worth taking.

And then there’s the road rage.

I’ve already commented on the business of cars and driving but, I’ve discovered, it gets much worse.

Chicken Man told me a tale of being chased home and threatened with death by a raving lunatic who had taken issue with him when Chicken Man had pointed out that the berk wasn’t using his indicator. (Truth be told, people here don’t seem to know the purpose of indicators. Perhaps they think they can rely on telepathy, but I can tell you now they are nowhere nearly evolved or intelligent enough for that. In fact, I’ve seen brighter looking creatures lurking at the bottom of a pond.)

Chicken Man’s story was one I’d found hard to believe. Until today.

There we were, paused at an intersection, waiting to cross the traffic when a gas-guzzling, environment-polluting SUV (of which the natives are so inordinately fond) came careering down the road at a speed set to kill. As it flew past, I flapped my wings, indicating the driver should slow down. Not a chance. Instead, he screeched onto the verge and proceeded to do a squealing U-Turn across the road.

The dolt was coming after us!

Fortunately, a few years of racing spacepods in Novapulse set me up for the task.

I hit the gas and took off. Ducked down a side road, flew into another and stopped in front of a sign which gave the number for the local security company. Chicken Man took down the number, for just in case and, as he did, the huge SUV hurtled around the corner.

So much for my escape techniques.

The driver pulled up alongside us, revving.

We studiously ignored the young fellow in the baseball cap.

He waited.

We ignored him some more.

He pulled off a short distance and watched us in his rear view mirror.

Chicken Man and I had a chat, about this and that, as one is wont to do in these circumstances.

The demented driver moved around the corner and waited, watching – like he hadn’t had a good enough look the first time.

I polished my talons.

He disappeared.

We gave him a minute or two and then nosed out. There was no sign of the rabid monster. We headed for home.

But now here’s the thing. Not only are people around here self-absorbed and arrogant, they also have egos too big for their SUVs - and this SUV had a vanity plate representing his company's name...

A quick surf of the net and we discovered the driver’s name, cell number, email address, url and home address - he lives a few roads away. Gotcha, baby.

And now he will learn what it is to mess with Atyllah the Hen - Chicken with Attitude.

Best he be afraid, very, very afraid...