Dispatch #48: The Gospel According to Super-Chicken

by Lupe Fernandez

I ride in the Hyundai dealer shuttle service back to my house. The Volkswagen is hot and stuffy, crowded with four passengers, two coffee mugs and one brief case. We pass by a gouged Contra Costa hillside.

I say to the driver. “What an eyesore. At least they have their own Doppler 5000.”

“They do?” The polite driver says.

“No, I was joking about the army’s microwave dish.” Camp Parks is surrounded by housing developments. I proceed to explain the concept of Doppler radar and make fun of local news channels that bombastically promote Doppler radar for their weather reports.

“Are you a mechanical engineer?” The driver asks me.

“Huh?”

“You know a lot of about science.”

I laugh. “No, I’m a writer.”

“Have you published anything?”

Super-Chicken and Fred

“No, it’s a competitive business.” And then I paraphrase Super-Chicken, “I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.”

Super-Chicken was a 1960’s cartoon, produced by Jay Ward and Bill Scott of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame. I watched the show as a kid and a few phrases lodged in my brain.

I knew writing fiction was a complicated, long term; low paying career filled with artists with far more talents than I.

Whenever mild-mannered Henry Cabot Henhouse needed to combat villains such as The Oyster, The Noodle or The Laundry Man, Mr. Henhouse donned his super-suit and drank the super-sauce provided by his trust lion assistant. After gulping down the mixture, Mr. Henhouse would have a seizure and transform into SUPER-CHICKEN. He would always remark about the super sauce, such as “A little heavy on the vermouth, Fred.”

When I edit my work, I often find my writing too heavy on confusion, Fred. Disheartening. So I came up with my own theme song, inspired by Super Chicken.

When my keyboard no long clacks,
When I can't figure out a plot,
When I get a rejection,
When it looks like I will quit writing', (puk, puk, puk)
There is someone waiting,
Who will hurry up and rescue you,
Just Call for Super Chicken! (puk, ack!) 

To the Super Coop!
To pick up my wife's car at the dealer.