Chicken Little

Howdy, you know I bloody hate January. It's at months like this that I wish I had a cup of hot water. Roll on summer is all I can say. Talking of summer, you know, when I was a kid, me and my brother used to have a Hot Water Battle. Oh yeah, we would pop the kettle on and fill our water pistols with boiling hot water. Scolded a bit when you got shot but it was great fun. Unless you got shot in the eye, which I did quite frequently. My brother was a right bastard for that, but he's dying of AIDS now so everything has come full circle. But enough about him. Let's talk shop.

You're probably wondering who and what I do. So let me enlighten you. My name isn't actually Chicken Finche. Well my surname is Finche, but what kind of parents would call their child Chicken? My parents didn't hate me that much, oh they hated me but not enough to call me after a barnyard animal. Chicken is a nickname, but we'll get to that later. My name is Ken. And I'll give you a clue to what I do for a living. Let's just say my life is like a rubbish comic book. It's like that Batman slogan from back in the day. But this is The Bat, The Cat And The Finche. You get me? No one does.