/ck/ - Food & Cooking

I had just eaten some fried chicken.

The breasts were juicy, and the biscuits were soft and warm.

Afterwards, the division manager of Popeye's came up to my table and asked me how the meal was. I said I was satisfied, but the meal lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. The manager apologized profusely, and said he had something to show me that would make up for it.

He led me to the back of the Popeye's, to a room soaked from floor to ceiling in blood. In the center of it was a live horse, chained by all four legs to the structural supports of the warehouse like room. As I watched, employees of the Popeye's cut large sections from the horse, which was whinnying and screaming in horror. The Popeye's employees took the chunks of horseflesh and sliced them into pieces, then they rooted around through the bags of trash strewn around the room to find discarded chicken bones. They quickly tenderized the meat with sledgehammers and fed it into a machine which formed the horse meat around the bones, then they breaded and deep-fried it.

I asked the division manager why he had led me back to this place, and the manager pointed at the steed's rump, the hole puckering rhythmically with terror. "We're just about to use that section, would you like a crack at it first?"

I quickly unzipped his pants and wasted no time jamming my erect shaft into the stallion's defenseless hole. I came just as the horse died. I was delighted. Popeye's definitely went the extra mile to make me a satisfied customer.