The Lord’s Chicken

The Lord’s Chicken

Tho’ ye walk through the shadow of the valley of death, know Fowl, thine sacrifice goes not in vein, but in my mouth.

May the people line up, double-file, to taste of your flesh. May the pilgrims walk a thousand miles to place their hands upon your shell. May your holy juices cleanse us of our evil ways, and ensure the deaths of innocent gays.

Blessed are the Chics-of-Filet. Tender angels of thigh and breast. Forsaking feathers, they fall from the heavens, each a sacrifice in our name. Chica chica boom boom, blood is spilt in the killing room.

Rejoice and open to the Great Coq in the sky, for His meat is stranger to none, and already resides within you. Pious mouth wide with repentance, prostrate yourself upon His ravaged carcass. We are not worthy.

Carpe diem Filet, carpe diem. The world awaits your breaded rapture.

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