Mr. Cluckles: President of the Galaxy 🐓✨🚀 part 2😅😅😅😅😅😅😅🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂😇😇😇😅😅🤣😂

After the incident in class (you know, the chicken, the alien, the goat, and the fridge rebellion), things didn’t calm down. No—things got weirder.

That night, I was trying to sleep, when suddenly, a blinding light filled my room again. I groaned, thinking the alien was back for a midnight Walmart run. But no… it was bigger. MUCH bigger.

A massive hologram filled the sky. A deep, booming voice announced:

“CITIZENS OF EARTH! YOUR NEW LEADER HAS BEEN CHOSEN.”

And there he was… my chicken, Mr. Cluckles, in full 4K hologram glory. Wearing a tiny suit, with a tie. Looking presidential.

He cleared his throat and said:

“Effective immediately, I am running for President of the Galaxy. And frankly, I’ve already won.”

The entire world was confused. Twitter exploded. Headlines read:

“Chicken Declares Presidency, UN Votes in Favor.”

“NASA Confirms: Poultry Can Run for Office.”

“Why Is My Microwave Barking at Me?” (unrelated but still concerning).

The next morning, alien limousines arrived at my house to take Mr. Cluckles to his “Galactic Inauguration.” Guess who had to go with him? ME. His “human assistant.” Basically his unpaid campaign manager-slash-butler.

So we blasted off into space. 🚀

The spaceship had WiFi (thankfully), but the passengers were… interesting. There was:

A Martian senator who only spoke in riddles.

A robot lawyer who kept trying to sue me for “breathing too loudly.”

A space goat (probably related to the one who called me Mom) who was somehow the Minister of Snacks.

When we landed on Planet Zorp, the crowd was MASSIVE. Aliens from every corner of the galaxy had gathered—slimy, glowing, floating, and even some who looked suspiciously like angry potatoes with eyes.

Mr. Cluckles strutted onto the stage. Feathers shining. Beak polished. The crowd went silent.

He raised a wing and shouted:

“My fellow beings! For too long, the galaxy has been run by boring old humans and squishy aliens. It’s time for fresh leadership. Leadership with feathers!”

The crowd ERUPTED.

Cheering. Screaming. Potato aliens fainting.

The Martian senator leaned over to me and whispered,

“He shall bring… the snacks of destiny.”

(Still not sure what that means.)

Then came the debates. His opponent? A three-headed space lizard named Gerald. Gerald’s campaign slogan was:

“Vote Gerald: He Eats Less Than a Chicken.”

But Mr. Cluckles DESTROYED him in the debate.

Moderator: “Mr. Cluckles, what’s your economic plan?”

Mr. Cluckles: “Eggs. Unlimited eggs.”

The crowd: [standing ovation]

Moderator: “How will you handle interplanetary conflicts?”

Mr. Cluckles: “With honor. And pecking.”

The crowd: [chanting his name]

Moderator: “What’s your stance on cheese tariffs?”

Mr. Cluckles: death-glares my fridge in the audience

The crowd: BOOOOO the fridge

It was a landslide victory. The galaxy chose him as President. He gave his first speech with a crown made of glowing cosmic feathers, while the alien band played a remix of the “Chicken Dance” song.

And me? I was officially promoted to “Assistant Vice Galaxy Butler.” My job description? Carry snacks, take notes, and stop the goat from eating the curtains.

But here’s the kicker…

The very next day, Mr. Cluckles announced his first law:

“All schools, on every planet, must now start the day with a dance-off.”

And guess who had to demonstrate the first one on live galactic TV? Yep. Me. Doing the Macarena. In zero gravity. While a goat called me Mom.

And that’s how my pet chicken became President of the Galaxy, and I became known across 13 planets as “The Embarrassed Human.”

😂😂😂

Please read the part 3