A/N: Got this idea spur of the moment and this is what came out of it!

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly.

iGet Out of Jail

Sam always had to find a way out of jail each time she was thrown in. Her mother would never bail her out and Carly couldn't always do anything because, being a teenage girl, she really had no true jurisdiction with the law. So Puckett usually had to find her own way out. It almost always entailed destroying something or knocking someone unconscious. If she was lucky, it even involved ham. On a really good day, she could eat the ham after she busted her way out of prison.

The girl watched as the cell door slammed shut and the guard, Sergeant Jangles (she had already taken about twenty jabs at his stupidly funny name), stuck his key in the lock and twisted it. Sam was in jail. Again.

"Can I have my phone call?" she asked in an overly whining tone. She loved making the guards angry before she took them down. Sam stuck her fingers through he bars, menacing eyes glaring through the bars at her captor.


Sam was almost glad that Jangles was such a blunt man. Answers were short and easy; Puckett respected that. Too bad it would make her life a bit harder. "Then can you order me some fried chicken?" she asked, tone now containing a hostile edge. "Mama needs to eat."

"Mama can wait." Jangles' answer was accompanied with a glare as he picked up his newspaper and opened it. He took a quick moment to shake out a few wrinkles before settling in to read the daily reports on the stock market and to see what new cars were in the ads.

"But I want chicken!" Sam shook the bars that held her in to emphasize her anger at being imprisoned. Not like she wasn't used to it. "Give me chicken or give me death!"

"The second option sounds pretty good to me," answered the officer as he flipped towards the reviews on the latest movies and theater shows.

Sam shook the bars again. "Can I have my phone call now?" she asked again, this time wrapping her fingers around the bars and making them rattle a little harder, the sound of metal hitting metal filling the small space of her cell. "I get a phone call. And you're not allowed to detain a minor without a phone call."

The sergeant let out a sigh. Sometimes, the law had a tendency to irritate him. Jangles put down his newspaper and rose from his big, comfy desk chair, keys in hand. He reluctantly stuck the keys in the lock, turned it, and let the door slide open to allow the teenage girl out of the cell. Jangles once more retracted the key before indicating to the phone. "One call, Puckett. That's all you get."

Sam did take her one call. She punched in the familiar number, her fingers flitting over the digits on the phone's silver pad. When the other line answered, she heard, "Hello, this is Wendy at the Seattle KFC, what can I do for you?"

"It's Sam," answered the juvenile. "Just throw together my usual and I'll be there in an hour." She pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder and kicked her feet up on the desk of the officer.

"We'll have it ready for you, Sam," replied Wendy before the line was cut dead.

The blonde girl looked up to Jangles who was watching her with an almost confused gaze; anger was still cleanly written in his features, but he was mostly confused. "You called for fried chicken?" he asked, trying to make sure he had heard her right.

"Yup." Sam dropped the phone back on the receiver.

"You were supposed to call someone to bail you out," growled Jangles, slightly irritated with this annoying girl. Didn't she know how prison worked?

"Why should I? I'm going to get myself out of here anyways."

He didn't register all of what she said. The sergeant just caught the first half of it. "You little punk-"

Sam had already whacked him in the head with the chair beside her before he had gotten the chance to throw her back in her cell. This was why she always got out. And this was how she usually got her fried chicken. On a good day, it was ham. Today: fried chicken. Either way, it was a win-win.

Jangles was out cold as Sam dragged him by one ankle into the cell. After stripping him of his clothing down to his t-shirt and boxers and kidnapping the keys, the girl locked him up in the small prison cell, locked his clothes in a desk drawer and waltzed out of the police station with those keys in the pocket of her jacket. She was on her way to get some fried chicken.

A/N: Short and sweet, but that's just the way I roll. Review!