I Heart Indies

Monday, June 10, 2013

To the Attention of the Secretary of State

Mr. Kerry (assuming you're the Secretary of State - it is you, right? I know it's not Hillary.)

I am contacting you via this blog because based on my readership stats, it's the most confidential form of communication available to me.  I'm sure not going to call you on my cellphone, ha-ha.

Anyway, I believe I have made a discovery of world-wide diplomatic importance, but before I get to that, I need to tell you something about myself.  I am an ordinary middle-aged white male living in suburban Atlanta with my wife of thirty-plus years.  We have a ranch-style house with a nice patio in the back, a dog, and two chickens.  It is somewhat unusual to have chickens in our subdivision, but by no means weirdly eccentric.  Moreover, I must stress these are perfectly ordinary chickens.  It is important you understand this: they are not radioactive mutant chickens, or hyper-intelligent super-chickens from a distant galaxy, nor do they possess magical or preternatural properties of any kind, so far as I know.  They are fed on ordinary chicken kibble available at any Tractor Supply store.

Furthermore, and this is a key point, my wife and I hold joint title to everything I have mentioned - the dog, the house, the patio, and the chickens belong to both of us jointly.  Keep this in mind; also keep in mind, as I have already mentioned, these are ordinary chickens of normal chicken ability.

The other day, in their forays about the yard, the chickens visited our patio where they decided to do their business.  "Business" here is merely a euphemism; I don't want to give the impression these chickens are some sort of financial wizards, or they'd come to the patio to fill out reports or return emails.  Chicken business in this case refers only to poop.  They were doing what chickens the world over do.

As soon as my wife saw this, she said, "Your chickens have crapped on my patio."  Do you see the significance of this?  I do not know what is in chicken poop to so clarify division of property, but by the simple act of defecation, the chickens had defined everything below the poop-line (the patio) as Nancy's and everything above it (the chickens and presumably the poop itself) as mine.  (See Figures 1 and 2.)

I believe this has world-wide ramifications.  Think of all the trouble spots that are a thorn in your side: Kashmir, the Military Demarcation Line between the Koreas, the Gaza strip, you name it.  I'm not sure how exactly to put this in action, but I think we hold the key to solve all border disputes in perpetuity.  I do not claim any special knowledge in this area; however, I am willing to serve in an advisory capacity when the time comes to deploy the chickens, should my country call; I figure we will need between fifty and sixty thousand chickens with good bowel habits to usher in an era of world-wide peace.

Yours Very Sincerely,

Man Martin

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