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Remember the last time you were packing 12 chickens around in your Dodge Neon and you needed to run into WalMart for something, so you thought to yourself, “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine if I barely crack the window. The heat index is only 117.”

Me either. But apparently, someone with North Carolina plates in a central Kentucky WalMart who didn’t speak a lick of English was faced with just such a scenario this week. According to bystanders, the chickens were left in the car for about 30 minutes before police arrived on the scene and paged the car’s owner:

“Attention WalMart shoppers. Will the customers with the dozen live chickens in their vehicle please come to the customer service desk?”

“Paging the chicken car people.”

The sounds of crickets chirping was broken only when the store paged the customers in Spanish, to which they responded, only to be greeted by the police. Because the whole chickens-in-the-car fiasco was now the scene of a murder. That’s right. One of the chickens had fried. Who could’ve predicted that outcome?

In the end, police didn’t press charges, choosing instead to leave that to animal control, who confiscated the remaining chickens currently being nursed back to health – assuming they didn’t suffer brain damage from the extreme heat.

Needless to say, this story of a chicken murder in the Bluegrass leaves a lot of questions unanswered. Namely, who drives around with a dozen live (well, they were all alive when they went into WalMart… presumably…) chickens in their car? Had they won them at the Lexington Lions Club Bluegrass Fair?

“Step right up! Try your hand at the spinning table of goldfish! Ring three fish bowls and you could walk away with a Dodge Neon, pre-loaded with 12 live chickens!”

Oh wait. That’s not why the fair comes to mind.

The fair comes to mind because of the Casey Anthony dunking booth. That’s right. Clearly, no standard was too low for fair organizers, who thought it would be cool to make money off a woman who, even though acquitted on charges that she murdered her own child, remains a despicable excuse for a human at best.

Set up just inside the entrance to one of the largest fairs in the Bluegrass, the booth was garnering quite the attention as one might expect.

By Tuesday, fair organizers had received more than enough complaints to warrant a shutdown of the dunking booth. Now there’s a shocker for ya. Not.

The way I see it, fair organizers have but one option if they want to save face at this point. Set up a table of spinning goldfish bowls and offer a Dodge Neon filled with chickens to the lucky winner who rings three bowls in a row. I’m just sayin’.


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