an old joke, retold

I believe my buddy Mike once told me this joke:

A man comes to a farm looking to buy a rooster for breeding purposes. The farmer he speaks with grimaces and says, “Yeah, we got ourselves a rooster, but we cain’t sell ‘im. Wouldn’t be proper.”

“What’s the problem with him?” the man asks.

“You don’t wanna know,” says the farmer. “But I’ll give you a look at ‘im if you want.” The man assents, and they move into the farm to see the rooster.

The man is treated to the sight of a powerful-looking, amazingly healthy rooster that would be perfect for breeding. It stands, proud and alone, in its own sequestered part of the farm, like a deadly weapon that gets taken out only in times of emergency.

“Good God!” the man exclaims. “You have to sell him to me!”

“Ain’t fer sale,” says the farmer. “Wouldn’t be proper. All’s I can say is, that thang is dangerous.”

The man grates, “I’ll offer you—” and he names an utterly exorbitant amount of money. The farmer considers.

“Okay, then,” says the farmer. “He’s yers. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya’, though.”

Giddy with delight, the man trucks the rooster back to his own property and, impatient to get things moving, tosses the rooster into his henhouse. Humming to himself, the man retires for the day.

The next morning, the man walks over to the henhouse and opens the door. He screams in horror. Every single one of his prized hens is dead, and the rooster is standing among the carcasses, breathing hard and staring at the man with crazed, bloodshot eyes. The man moans, “Good Lord, he... he fucked them to death! Jesus, I’m gonna have to figure this out...” And with that, the man takes the rooster out and places him in a barn with a bunch of other farm animals—cows, pigs, horses. “Lemme think about this,” the man mutters to himself, and he goes back into his domicile.

The next morning, the man wakes up and has an idea of what to do. He strides purposefully over to the barn and opens the door... and screams in horror once again. The rooster is standing in the midst of a pile of animal carcasses, looking insanely triumphant. All the cows, pigs, and horses are dead, blood trickling out of their nether regions. “No!” shouts the man, searching around the barn for what he needs. He finds a chain with a spike on one end and a metal collar on the other. Grabbing the chain, the rooster, and a hammer, the man angrily marches out into his pasture, far away from any other beasts. He claps the metal collar around the rooster’s neck, hammers the spike deep into the ground, and stomps away, growling, “That’ll teach you to fuck my animals to death!”

The next day, the man tromps back out to where the rooster is... and as he nears the rooster, he sees that it’s still on its chain, but it’s dead. Its eyes are closed, and its tongue is hanging out of its open beak.

“What in God’s name happened here?” the man blurts out. He approaches the rooster carefully, having seen his share of horror movies. The rooster doesn’t move; it really seems dead. The man gets right up to it. He stares down at the carcass.

One of the rooster’s eyes pops open.

“Sshh,” says the rooster, pointing at the sky with a sly wingtip. “Buzzards.”