| It's probably pretty hard to read: I once knew a rooster named Space Man. He was the most stoic rooster I'd ever met. My step-father Rick told me that this nature was good in a rooster. That he'd be transformed into a great cock-fighter real easy. "Just gotta get his blood boilin' a little, that's all." He'd say. I didn't want Space Man to become a fighter, so on a whim I rang his neck. It wasn't a very difficult task to achieve. Rick gave me a good smack across the face, but my mother prepared a mighty fine feast that evening (she tended to feel guilty about his volatile nature). Rick managed to come around and enjoy the meal. "As easy as you managed to ring that cock's neck, Arlene, I'm not sure I would've gotten a good fight out of him anyhow!" He exclaimed. I ate Space Man's thigh that night, my eyes full of tears. I didn't want another smackin' for not finishing my supper. |
