Pepe, the Mexican Chicken, Races a Nissan 370Z

I can almost feel my heart beating, pumping blood in my brain, my feet, my wings. The excitement of the upcoming challenge, in this God forsaken barn, hidden in a corn field somewhere, I don't know where, is nearly unbearable.

He, my master, is giving me a pep talk. He's telling me where I've been, and where I'm heading. He's not telling me why I'm going where I'm heading, but I know, in my heart, that I need to go. And not just go, but run, fly, and run again.

It's gonna be tough, he tells me, and I know it. My adversary is no chicken. My adversary is a monster from another stretch of land I believe they call Japan. A monster many times my size, a monster many times more powerful, a monster that will run me over the first chance it gets.

But I'm no chicken either. I mean, I am, but not just any chicken. I'm Pepe, the Mexican winged warrior. Trained by the best, encouraged by the many and, most importantly, coming from a long line of proud birds. Birds that have served the Olmec, the Aztec and died bravely fighting the Spanish.

This is why I will not lose. I will run as fast as my feet can take me, I fly as high as my wings will allow me, I will cheat, if needed. And here we go.

I'm running. The monster is beside me. It makes an incredible noise. I duck, I fly, I run, and, and, and... It's coming! I can feel it! It's almost here...

Wait... Did I just lay an egg?