Luigi
Barzini, The Europeans (New York:
Simon and Schuster, 1983), 75. Luigi Barzini, Jr., was an Italian journalist
who “visited Berlin a few times […], just before Hitler came to power.” “The
story went around that a male goose of which one cut the neck at the ecstatic
moment would give you the most delicious, economical, and time-saving frisson
of all, as it allowed you to enjoy sodomy, bestiality, homosexuality, necrophilia,
and sadism at one stroke. Gastronomy, too, as one could eat the goose
afterward.”
Robert
Crumb, “Down on the Farm,” Snatch Comics
#2, Apex Novelties, 1969.
Elton John, Me
(New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2019), 122-3.
[In 1975 Elton John made some personnel changes to his
band, including adding guitarist Caleb Quaye.] I auditioned another American
guitarist as well, but it wasn’t a success. For one thing, it didn’t gel
musically, and for another he freaked out everyone else in the band by telling
us that he liked fucking chickens up the arse, then cutting their heads off. Apparently
when you do that their sphincters contract and it makes you come. I couldn’t
work out whether he had an absolutely horrendous sense of humour or an
absolutely horrendous sex life. There aren’t many rules in rock and roll, but
there are some: follow your gut musical instincts, make sure you read the small
print before you sign and, if at all possible, try not to form a band with
someone who fucks chickens up the arse and decapitates them. Or even talks
about it. Whichever it is, it’s going to wear on your nerves after a while if
you have to share a hotel room with them.
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