Beverly the Cocky Chuck

Beverly’s father had been a chicken and her mother had been a duck. She was the world’s first chuck. And she loved to PAAAAAAARTAY.

Beverly was blessed with a magnificent breast and quite the tail. And boy howdy, she had her way with the farm animals. It was just like that movie Barynard, except everybody was very drunk and she could and would have sex with any creature she wanted.

Plork-plork was a pig. He lived a fairly unpleasant life, never having many friends since most of the pigs were slaughtered. In fact, he would be slaughtered himself soon. The farmer thought Plork-plork was barren and had no use for him.

But Plork-plork was not barren. He was just unpopular. And the only way Plork-plork could save his own life was to prove he could get his jiggy on. Who better to approach than Beverly?

“Excuse me, Beverly,” said Plork-plork as he lightly tapped Beverly on her wing. She spun around, feathers out. Upon seeing Plork-plork, she burst out laughing.

“Go away!” she cried through a disgruntled cackle, unable to look at him with a straight face.

“Wait, Beverly,” Plork-plork politely pleaded. ”I just wanted to say that you’re very beautiful and—”

But it was too late. Beverly had already trotted over to a cow with a magnificent udder. It seemed she only went for the large animals with larger udders.

Plork-plork was ashamed. He stepped outside the barn to have a moment to himself, stifling his tears as he looked to the moon.

A dark chuckle came from behind him. Plork-plork spun to face Farmer Tanner himself.

“Pig penis ain’t the popular prize, Plork-plork?” he taunted through a tobacco spit.

“I know I’m capable of getting some!” Plork-plork cried.

“Shut yer trap, shithead. Not even Beverly’ll touch ya.” He inched near Plork-plork, a sharp knife in his hand.

“Please, don’t,” Plork-plork begged, pressed against the barn door.

“Oh, don’t feel so bad, little piggy!” snarled Farmer Tanner. ”You better than Beverly in there.” Plork-plork was flabbergasted by this statement. Farmer Tanner sneered through a grim smile. ”They still sayin’ her father was a chicken?” Plork-plork nodded. Farmer Tanner shook his head.

“Ain’t no chicken who’d made love to that duck. That’us me. Tha’s right. Ol’ Farmer Tanner had his way with a duck and made slutty lil’ Beverly in there. Look at ‘er. Yer ‘bout to die, all drama-like, all wishin’ for somethin’ more, knowed yer friends gone, an’ she? She can’t hold more’n a load in her beak. Ya got a nice pig heart’n there.”

Farmer Tanner’s murderous words had strangely prepared Plork-plork for his steadily-approaching fate. Perhaps he could die happy, knowing his lot in life lead him to live more than Beverly ever could. After all, Beverly’s father had been a farmer and her mother had been a duck. She was just a fuck.