::is DYING. aLOT::

[permetaform]

Go [HERE] for an intrepid tale of fluffy gay cocks and demonic chickens and 4-H.

All right, this particular tale also takes place in Canada, when we lived on a game farm (Mainly, we had animals for fun, not profit…and the occasional eating. Hmmm…cow I raised from a calf, you are fat and tasty!)

In case you didn’t know, which you probably don’t, because I like to keep my uber-geeky side somewhat hidden, I was in the 4-H club. For those of you unfamiliar with this club, it’s basically farm kids with nothing better to do than groom their cocks and show them off to random people called ‘judges’ at fairs. Of course, I wasn’t in chicken 4-H until my 3rd year in the club, I was in the goat 4-H. However, the sentence ‘groom their cocks’ was too tempting to pass up.

Now, this is probably an unknown fact, but 4-H is EXTEREMLY competitive. Why? I have no idea. There was no monetary prizes, just ribbons and cheap-ass plastic trophies. Freudian slip, folks. I originally wrote weapons, instead of ribbons. That just goes to show how I view my time in 4-H. Never enough weapons.

Comments

[xoverau.livejournal.com]

Weapons! *dies* Ahhh, good old 4-H.