Name: Anonymous 2010-08-13 1:23
I just ate some fried chicken.
The breasts were juicy, and the buns were soft and warm.
Afterward, the division manager of Popeyes came up to my table and asked me how my meal was. I said I was satisfied, but the meal lacked a certain "je ne sais quoi." He apologized profusely and said he had something to show me that would make up for it.
He lead me to the back of the Popeyes restaurant, 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, Popeyes employees cut large sections from the horse, which was whinnying and screaming in horror. The 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 he pointed at the steed's rump, the asshole puckering rhythmically with terror. "We're just about to use that section, would you like a crack at it first?"
I quickly unzipped my pants and wasted no time jamming my erect penis into the stallion's defenseless anus shoot. I continued to pump my rock hard member into that equestrian pie hole with maximum force, as if I was jockeying for the finish line of high-stakes thoroughbred horse race. I came just as the horse died. I was absolutely delighted beyond all expectations.
Popeyes certainly went the extra mile to make me a satisfied customer.
The breasts were juicy, and the buns were soft and warm.
Afterward, the division manager of Popeyes came up to my table and asked me how my meal was. I said I was satisfied, but the meal lacked a certain "je ne sais quoi." He apologized profusely and said he had something to show me that would make up for it.
He lead me to the back of the Popeyes restaurant, 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, Popeyes employees cut large sections from the horse, which was whinnying and screaming in horror. The 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 he pointed at the steed's rump, the asshole puckering rhythmically with terror. "We're just about to use that section, would you like a crack at it first?"
I quickly unzipped my pants and wasted no time jamming my erect penis into the stallion's defenseless anus shoot. I continued to pump my rock hard member into that equestrian pie hole with maximum force, as if I was jockeying for the finish line of high-stakes thoroughbred horse race. I came just as the horse died. I was absolutely delighted beyond all expectations.
Popeyes certainly went the extra mile to make me a satisfied customer.