Another tale from the Poison Ivy.
Juan “The Chicken Fucker” Corona was a barrel chested, hard drinking, fudge packing maniac from Zacatecas. He didn’t consider himself gay ‘cause he was a “pitcher”. Catchers were gay. I always wondered what Ray Fosse felt about this, but I digress. Gotta love those Zacateño Mexicans. Anyway Juan told someone--in confidence HA! HA!--that he used to fuck chickens on the rancho back home. Legend has it his grandmother caught him and screamed, “Juan! I told you to go out to the hen house and PLUCK a chicken!”
Anyway he went out for drinks with a food runner named Juan “Implante” Infante. Now Juan was a little light in his loafers, but got awful sore if one was to suggest that he was gay, but not as sore as he was after Corona was through with him. You can’t say Juan didn’t warn him though. In fact he told him straight up, “If you pass out, I’m gonna fuck you up the butt.”
This was back when free range chicken was all the rage. FYI Free range is when chickens get to roam around the fields, pecking at corn and grain, and then they are hunted down and slaughtered. As Wolfgang Puck always said, “Free range, but not out of range.” My friend Nathan, when over hearing a guest tell how delicious our roast chicken was, would chime in, “All our chickens come pre-Corona-ed for easy stuffing.” And they thought it was a culinary secret.
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