The Chicken Feed

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Friedrich Nietzsche was evicted from the womb in 1776 by a woman who, by the most astonishing of coincidences, turned out to he his mother. Birth, however, is where Nietzsche’s similarity to the rest of the human race ends, for he was and is, in exactly the same way as every other famous thinker, truly unique.

Named after the popular Dandy Warhols song, Nietzsche started his post-foetus existence on the deserted island of Morrisminoria, population 50,000. Even in his early childhood he possessed a discomforting quietness (his own) and a Wodehouseian way with words (stolen from the local corner store). At the age of six he befriended one Sigmund Freud. Popular legend has it that young Fried loved to trip Sigmund over at inappropriate and unexpected moments, a prank from which we derive the phrase “Freudian Slip”.

As he grew older, two remarkable things happened to Friedrich Nietzche. One, his age increased; and two, he began to question his place in the world. Was Morrisminoria all there was to the universe, he asked, or was there something over that vast mass of water the townsfolk called “The Wettenfields”? Was his island the only chapter in the book of life, or merely a piece of unwanted junk mail reused as a makeshift bookmark, then discarded in the bin of some greater library of existence? Did some omnipresent librarian decimally categorise the universe’s events? Would she be some crotchety old hag, or one of those foxy younger volunteers, and if so, would she be willing to answer his questions over a romantic candle-lit dinner? Nietzsche, who never quite knew when to stop with his analogies, vowed to find the answer, like an irritated salmon swimming upstream to mate with a cunningly disguised ostrich.

And with that, Nietzsche bid farewell to Morrisminoria and set out on his epic voyage. He returned five minutes later, realising he had needed food, money, a map, a crew and a ship. He called upon his easygoing charm, and upon failure, a favour from the local hypnotist, to persuade some personnel to join him. The remaining preparation moved relatively smoothly, until a novice bank clerk misunderstood Nietzsche’s mid-word cough for the letter “k” and granted him the island’s entire monkey population in place of a loan. (It was Helen’s first day, and Nietzsche was too polite to point it out.) This mistake would ultimately endanger, then rather redundantly save, the aspiring philosopher’s life.

Nonetheless, the journey began with nary a mishap to dull the spirits. Nietzsche found company in the mind, voicebox and most other parts of his friend, Sigmund Freud. The aforementioned brain had its own, entirely different thoughts on the universe; specifically that his island (of which he secretly believed himself Emperor) was merely a bump on a building block of the Amish Podracer of Social Insecurity.

On the third day of sailing, disaster struck with a blunt instrument. A rogue monkey jettisoned the boat’s entire food supply, an event witnessed by Freud, who gained several pounds that night from stress. Karma provided gastronomic salvation, and the crew retaliated by eating the monkeys. Morale returned to normal, despite Freud’s jealousy of Second Mate Enos McHardy, who was allowed second helpings. (Then and there Freud coined the popular theory of “Enos Envy”, a title tragically mistranslated by history.)

Unbeknownst to Nietzsche, the ex-monkey in his siman brûlée had contracted food poisoning, a disease it passed on to the diner with much posthumous mirth. Nietzsche immediately fell into a coma for three days and six nights. (Chronology was also on his first day of the job, and nobody had the heart to tell him.)

In this dream-like state (Queensland, Australia) Nietzsche found himself in a dark room with a mysterious stranger. The man, who introduced himself as the Thandman, foretold the delirious thinker’s destiny with a dramatic echo and an embarrassing lisp. He, Friedrich Nietzsche, was to become a world famous philosopher and save the galaxy from certain doom. Upon awakening, he realised the truth at once: the magic was inside him all along. Nine months later Nietzsche gave birth, shedding his mortal skin to become…

From this point on, Mother’s Day was a very awkward affair.

Harnessing his newfound powers of teleportation, he sent himself and his crew to America, Land of the Free, making several accidental detours through women’s changing rooms along the way. Upon arrival, he parted ways with his longtime friend, Sigmund Freud. (For information on his further adventures, see Gravity & The Apple Tree: The Official Biography of Sigmund Freud, available at all good retailers.) The other surviving crew members, John, Paul, George and Ringo, moved to Liverpool and were never heard from again.

Nietzsche, left to his own devices, set to work on his Unifying Theory of Everything: a simple equation that would answer all of life’s mysteries, from the meaning of life to Paris Hilton’s popularity. After ten years of tireless research at a Tahiti nudist camp, he finally stumbled upon the answer:

The Genderless Glade of Narn:

This self-explanatory revelation granted Nietzsche the funding necessary for his new project. Human madness, he argued, is bad. If offered such a thing, the average person is likely to say no. Another word for no is “nay”, which happens to sound like “neigh”, the sound a horse makes. With this reasoning and a metaphysical transmogrifier he found on eBay, he successfully extracted the madness from his brain and converted it into a functional horse, a creature then nearing extinction. The achievement inspired the scientific community to invent the Nobel Prize and award it to Nietzsche. The now-famous philosopher continued to top himself in a series of remarkable achievements, culminating with an invitation to pen a guest episode of “Sliders”. But before he could so much as scrawl “SCENE ONE – EXTERIOR – STRANGE PARALLEL UNIVERSE”, he found himself inexplicably at the school dance. He looked down to find he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Friedrich Nietzsche jolted awake in the University of Basel in 1869 and pondered the strange dream he had just had. There was, he was sure, a message in all that, but he decided it would have to wait until morning.

And the rest, as they say with a smug grin you just want to punch, is history.

Some say that after a time, Nietzsche himself succumbed to the horse of madness and passed away to that great Captain and Tennille tribute band convention in the sky. We say neigh. The truth, so the hushed whispers around campfires say, is that Friedrich Nietzsche, aka The Übermensch, simply completed his work here on Earth. Upon his Spaceborne Swastike he flew; up, up and away into the heavens, seeking new worlds to explore and educate, and leaving behind a legacy that will last forever in our hearts.

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