Maybe my manuscripts haven't resonated with literary agents because I'm not creative enough.
Try as I might, I cannot imagine how a man can have sex with a chicken. I've tried to use my imagination, but it doesn't stretch that far. Filthy, stupid birds---I don't much care to eat them either, and making love is out of the question.
Michael Bessigano is far more clever than I could ever hope to be. He had the ability to conceive and execute such an incident. The man loves chickens. Passionately.
His physical attraction to our feathered farmyard friends has cost him more than forty-one cents per pound. Mr. Bessigano served four years after enticing a buxom fryer to a hotel in Hammond, Indiana, for the express purpose of having sex.
Someone at the hotel must have heard the clucking because the poultry lover was caught with the dead bird. Yes, after hours of hot sex, he did her in. Planned to eat the evidence, no doubt, with a crisp pinot grigio and roasted potatoes.
His love that dares not crow its name has landed him in hot water once again. He's been charged with receiving images of bestiality over the Internet.
I don't know that I could face an egg this morning. My imagination might get the better of me and some things you just don't want to think about over breakfast.
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