Well, you first gotta understand that this chicken had a hard childhood. His father left when he had yet to hatch. His mother looked after him for a few years, but she was a druggie and didn’t do that great a job. Eventually she sold him into slavery in exchange for a hit. For a few years he worked as a slave laborer on a farm just north of the border. The man who owned the farm was about as cruel and sadistic as they get, but to all outward appearances he was the model of virtue and a pillar of the community, so nobody suspected that he had seventy slave chickens working for him.
Eventually this chicken snapped and murdered the farm owner by pecking open his jugular vein. He left the farm. Shortly after the owner’s family found out who killed him and put up a one million dollar bounty, payable to whoever found, tortured and killed the chicken. Fearing for his life, the chicken headed up north. He fell in with the chicken mafia, and worked as a hitchicken and general muscle for a few years. He slowly earned enough money to rent a house and get established, although he had to keep his head down to avoid getting noticed. He met a nice hen, and they started dating.
Now, the chicken was getting tired of killing other chickens for a living. He’d been attending classes part-time, and had been told by his teachers that he was real smart. They wanted to give him a scholarship to go to college overseas, even. That never worked out, however. The chicken’s girlfriend got pregnant, and he decided to stay in the country to care for the resulting chicks. He tried to quit the mafia. His bosses were not very pleased about his decision, and told him it would be a shame if anything bad happened to his family. The chicken bought a strong lock for his apartment, although he still constantly worried about his family. The chicken got a job in an office. It was mind-numbingly boring, but it paid the bills and didn’t involve killing anyone. Two years later the chicken got two strokes of bad luck.
Firstly, the company was going through hard times and had decided to lay him off. Secondly, he had developed severe respiratory problems; the doctor said it had something to do with exposure to agricultural chemicals from his days as a slave. When he went home to tell his wife the bad news, he found she wasn’t there. She had taken the children and left to be with another chicken.
Well, the chicken went out and got good and drunk that night. He was standing outside a bar, watching the cars streak across the nearby highway, when he thought that it would be good to die. He didn’t have much to live for, and his life insurance policy would help his kids more than he ever could now. His death had to look like an accident, though.
The highway! That was it! He would get run over, and be “accidentally” killed. The chicken staggered out over the road, trying to position himself in front of the largest vehicle possible. They swerved around him, furiously honking their horns and yelling obscenities at him. The chicken staggered on, and before he realized it he’d crossed the road and had reached the other side. The chicken still wasn’t dead, however. He slumped to the ground, weeping bitter tears.