Out of nowhere, raw poultry parts blanketed a block in Brooklyn — and then they were gone.

There's all this talk going around about chicken parts, but nobody is doing anything about it. Well, that's not how I roll. I don't talk about chicken parts, I DO something about it. I built a chicken skin dirigible. 
As everybody knows, there's chicken parts all over the streets of Brooklyn -- put there by mob bosses who want to distract the DA's office from what's happening down at the docks. So I went to Brooklyn in a pedicab and collected a thousand yards of chicken skin in less than an hour. I brought it home and sewed it up into an airtight bag, which I proceeded to fill with helium. Of course I didn't do all the stitching myself -- I had help from the Oswego Macaroni Club. Much appreciated, girls.
I set sail for Macao, across the Horn of Africa and the Indian Ocean, with a crew of intrepid lipids. They are a cutthroat lot, so the first thing I did was show them who was boss by tossing a dozen or so overboard for insubordination when they sneezed without permission. That whipped them into shape toot sweet. Once we landed in Macao I traded in antique seltzer bottles for a season, then converted my profits into strips of candy buttons and flew my chicken skin dirigible off into the clouds over Tibet. Half the crew froze to death as we passed the summit of Mount Everest. The rest deserted when we landed in Spittal an der Drau near the Austrian border. The craven marmosets. 
I was forced to shanghai the Vienna Boys Choir en masse in order to sail back to Brooklyn for chicken skin repairs. But when I got there the chicken parts that once blanketed the roads in such abundance had mysteriously disappeared. Some said the government had sent them to detention centers in Texas; others said the chicken parts had come alive again and walked back to the Tyson plant in Poughkeepsie. Me, I think the rats ate 'em all up. The upshot is I'm stranded now in Brooklyn. Puberty has broken out amongst the crew, so I quarantined them. The next move is up to my arch nemesis, who goes by the name of 'The Nematode.' In the meantime I'll keep my powder dry and my cakes moist.