Here is one of the pieces we wrote together at the last meeting. This one is about Cornish game hens:
You eat em right? They are like those little chickens. At lease, that's what they look like cooked. I have no idea what they look like alive, but I imagine them to be in direct poultry proportion. They must lay tiny eggs.
Unfortunately, they are now extinct. Henry Jones, a CEO of The Unnamed, called for a mass genocide.
The crucial thing about saving them from extinction though, is to secure that they still lay eggs.
They were a breed that were so highly coveted, all because of the legends surrounding them. Legends sprung out from their voices, screaming like a siren: "BUCK! BUCK! BUCK!" Their echoing cries could always cut the thickness of air.
From where I know them, they are very juicy. Appealing yet morbid. A hen ripped apart at the seams, and then spiced to perfection: this is from where I know them. This is how they we.
Grab it by the neck and shake that fucker dead. Ah, grab it by the neck and shake that fucker dead. Well I don't care if you care about it. Don't expect me to be fair about it, grab that hen by the neck and shake it dead.