She walked into my place, all long legs and short temper. She asked if I wanted to go and shoot something.
Of course I did. But first, we needed to solve a mystery, the mystery of the French Hen. Why is she sassy? Why is she the boss? Why is she capable of melting hearts with a single bawk? A true femme fatale, dressed in black and wearing a raspberry beret; the kind you find on a pretty chick-en.
Yes, until we could discover what had this hen in such a mood, there would be no shooting, no fighting, no fun.
I suspect the answer lies in biscuits, but dare we risk our fingers to find out?
Me and this dame have a date with destiny.
She walked into my place, all long legs and short temper. She asked if I wanted to go and shoot something.
Of course I did. But first, we needed to solve a mystery, the mystery of the French Hen. Why is she sassy? Why is she the boss? Why is she capable of melting hearts with a single bawk? A true femme fatale, dressed in black and wearing a raspberry beret; the kind you find on a pretty chick-en.
Yes, until we could discover what had this hen in such a mood, there would be no shooting, no fighting, no fun.
I suspect the answer lies in biscuits, but dare we risk our fingers to find out?
Maybe another dame has ruffled her feathers, and she’s running from her checkered past.
In a way, *takes long slow pull of cigarette* aren’t we all?