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Review: Fifty Shades of Chicken: A Parody in a CookbookEditorial Review - Bookreporter.com
Fifty chicken recipes, each more seductive than the last, in a book that makes every dinner a turnon. “I want you to see this. Then you'll know everything. It's a cookbook,” he says and opens to some recipes, with color photos. “I want to prepare you, very much.” This isn't just about getting me hot till my juices run clear, and then a little rest. There's pulling, jerking, stuffing, trussing ... Read full review
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A BOOK REVIEW
Fifty Shades of: Fifty Shades of Chicken
a parody in a cookbook
FL FowlerI received this book as a Christmas Present. A parody. A funny cook book.
"Not another funny cookbook," I said.
I fingered her. Carefully, slowly. She was new!
"I'm sorry," I heard her say, A woman! A skimpy picture of a chicken, on her belly. Naked, bound in twine.
"Filth, trash." I laid her on her back. A tattoo, on her foot~Note how round. Faded and gray. Her cover, a beacon.
"Open me. Please!"
"You're a book, you can't talk," I say.
I got down on all fours, to put her back under the tree.
"I'm not porno, if that's what your saying!" She was skinny, dark in color. She flashed a leaf.
I felt the smoothness of her skin, the straightness of her spine. She didn't resist.
I slid my fingers between her pages.I gazed at her cover.I flipped her over, and read her back.A man!
"You're young," I said. "Not a wrinkle." Every page shiny and sleek. I felt their strength, their thickness.
Your spine, I want you, you're mine.
"Ouch," she said. "Not so fast."
Her corners, stiff, firm, untouched.Her smell, fresh, new. I spread my fingers, further.
Sensed her insides, what she wanted to give. Her cherry. What she was about. I took her in both hands.
"Stop, I'm a virgin."
I picked her up and cradled her. All five fingers, inserted deep. "You're not bathroom material."
"I can be, please take me."
I pulled her in, pressed tight to my chest. "Yes, you'll do. Come my child. Come with me."
"I'll be worth it," she says as... We disappear down the hall.
"Tell me, who is this FL Fowler, fucking you in the rear?Do you know him intimately?"
"He's fingered me too."The bathroom door slammed shut.
"My poor book, so young and fresh, open up and expose yourself to me."
"May I call you,Miss Book?" I asked.
"Yes, you may."
"You look like a very sexy book, "I said.
"I've been read, many times, but not by someone with such strong hands," She says.
"You are a man for books? No! That tingles, you holding me that way. On your lap, the light so bright."
"My elbows resting on my knees. You like?" I ask.
"Yes, take your time. Put on your glasses. All fifty recipes. Take me, one page at a time. All my picture parts.
I can handle it.You will be my first. Look at my delectable delights. Savour the words.
Lets begin, open me. I'll show you everything. Feast your eyes."
"Open me." She says.
I grab her by the spine. Feel her binding.There is his name again.
On the cover, FL Fowler. "Who is this man?" I ask.
"Don't be angry." "He wrote me. He took his time.
He's good. A teacher, a chef.
Let me show you. Like this." She said.
She spread herself out for me. Her insides, exposed,
Open me," She said, again.
"Can We See Each Other Again?" I asked.
"Certainly. As many times as necessary."
"Will you leave me with a happy ending, Miss Book?" I asked.
"Of course, finish me off!" First.
I loved this book. If not for the sheer, audacity.
Informative and very entertaining for a cookbook.
I'll give it two thumbs up.
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