In it, all the chickens whose wings I had eaten slathered with hot sauce came looking for me. And they wanted revenge.

And they showed up on my front lawn. And demanded I come out and answer to them for having consumed bits of their bodies.

I did come out. And I took one look at them and said, "Oh, there you are! I hate leaving a job unfinished."

Then I scooped them all up and rotisserie'd them in the back yard. I left one alive to spread the word of the fate of its armless fellows. And the ones I did not eat I put in the freezer for later.

That was a great dream.