Chickenlypse- A story from Days at TU

The world loved chicken: chicken and rice, chicken and mushroom sauce, chicken and . . . and anything! The world ate chickens faster than they could lay eggs. There was a depletion that grew into a famine until only two chickens remained. Those two escaped to Peru and lived out their lives safely under the Peruvio-Amerio-Non-Extradition Act.
It was a sunny afternoon in Greenville, Minnesota, and an out-of-work mad scientist named Pete Moss strolled into a local cafe. He took a seat on a stool at the end of the bar. "My good fellow, might I have a grilled chicken sandwich?"
"Ha," sneered the server, "did chickens have lips?"
"Well, no, but they could if they were genetically re-engineered. What are you getting at?"
"Man, we don't have any chicken!" He turned and mumbled, "Crazy fool, chickens could never have lips."
Pete could not help but be hurt at the statement he had heard the waiter mutter under his breath. The scientist had always considered himself an expert at charting the waters of the gene pool. "Anything is possible with science," he grumbled. "Now how about some fried chicken strips?"
"Look man, the chickens are gone! This selfish world ate them all man, without even blinking. It's the chicken apocalypse I tell you. Now, how about some tuna, man?"
The complex mind of the professor raced: "Hmmmmm, half tuna, half man, this would be an interesting experiment . . . . OH! lunch." He squeezed his lips tightly together and squinted, contemplating the question. Like a small child hanging precariously on a cliff stretching for his rescuer's hand, Pete stammered the words that represented his last glimpse of hope, "Chicken salad?"
His feeble attempt for deliverance was met only by a scowl from the cafe employee. Pete wandered home in disbelief. He had read the newspaper articles, but finally, reality struck. At home he poured out his heart with all its sorrows to his wife.
"Oh, honey, that's awful," she sympathized. "What if I fix you some frog legs, dear?"
"Hmmmmmmm, a deer with frog legs? Difficult, but I think I could do it if I . . ."
A half an hour later, his wife placed a plate of frog legs in front of him. He cautiously took a bite with uncertainty. "It . . . It tastes like chicken . . . but it's not!" and he broke down and cried.

These soul-searching events gave Pete a purpose. He must use his scientific expertise to bring back the forever lost, exotic creature, the chicken. His zealous experiments drove him late into the night, working on a seemingly impossible task. Tackling the challenge head-on, he decided not only to genetically re-create chickens, but to improve them as well. The new birds would be bigger, stronger, faster, taller, smarter, louder, prettier, and fly farther.
"He said I was crazy, but now, chickens will not only have lips, but also will talk!"
The scientist's attempts were numerous but eventually successful. After four months he had created the first test-tube chick. This single baby bird was all he needed to raise his new breed of asexual birds. He danced madly around his basement laboratory flailing his arms and singing, "I feel like chicken tonight. I feel like chicken tonight. Moo Hoo Ha Ha Ha."

(One year later)

Pete seemed to have complete control over his growing flock of mutant birds. One day while his battalion of chickens goose-stepped around the laboratory compound, a chicken fell out of formation and accosted him.
"You're no scientist."
"Why, I certainly am."
"Oh yeah, what is the derivative of a polynomial whose limit is the x-axis?"
Pete was impressed; he did not expect such a knowledgeable question from a chicken. Captivated by the problem, he considered the challenge an enjoyable and unexpected perk of his new creation.
Pete pondered the polynomial problem at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, the chickens escaped from their primitive cage of Lincoln Logs and terrorized the city of Greenville. Their plan of attack was simple. One bird would casually walk up to a citizen and ask a tough question. Not wanting to be out done by a chicken, the befuddled victim would soon be deep in thought. Then the wild horde of vicious fowl would drop down out of the sky, devour everything that moved, and leave nothing but a pile of bones. Soon the chickens had complete control of Greenville, and their population grew along with their taste for human flesh.
The Secret Service, FBI, Coast Guard, Air Force, Navy Seals, and KGB all tried to recapture the city but they were powerless. Bullets just bounced off the beasts. Pete realized now that Kevlar feathers were a bad idea. Soon the chicken invasion spread across the state. As their numbers grew, they massed together and struck entire towns. The sky would grow dark as the flock descended upon their prey. Victims never saw the predators because no light could penetrate the swarm.

(Fifty years later)

Joe dropped into a cafe for a quick lunch. "Let me have a burger."
"Wouldn't we all like one, buddy?" said the waiter sarcastically.
"I'd like a steak then."
"You would eat meat from a cow?"
"Of course not, I want a human steak."

"Look, there are no people; we ate them all. We kept stuffing our beaks until they were all gone. They're lost forever."
Joe, the bewildered chicken, flew out of the restaurant window. He had heard the people farms were having a tough summer, but he didn't know they were completely barren. Was there anything he could do? Could he bring back the humans?