In my younger days, I used to be a cowboy of some repute. Yeah, those were good days. Killing innocent people, robbing banks, drinking whiskey, cheating at cards, impregnating farm girls, conning strangers, smuggling cattle, embezzling gold, extorting sheriffs, looting bars, beating up foreigners, hijacking travelers, threatening the clergy, lying to the press, burying the undertaker alive, maiming the mayor, driving out traders, destroying horse carts, massacring horses, burning up the fire station and shooting down the entire town hall with a round of 9 shots. But still, none of those sick joys come close to the pure ecstasy, the unadulterated rush of my secret, most defiling obsession.
Eating fried chicken.
Yeah, those birds really give me the chills.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Restless Sinner (track 9 from Howl)