BrianArao had been working for days.  This chicken of his, a giant male that was referred to as "His Big Cock," was feeling neglected and began pecking around the farm's outskirts waiting for someone to provide some feed.  Brian wiped sweat off his brow and decided that he was going to take care of His Big Cock before it began to shrink and become even more unpalatable than it already was.  Brian set down his tools and walked over to His Big Cock and started to pet him vigorously.  His Big Cock clucked a bit in healthy enjoyment.

Suddenly a crew of females only (NOT MEN) came over and grabbed His Big Cock.  They began choking him out, just choking that chicken like their lives depended on it.  Brian was aghast but also slightly intrigued by how deftly they maneuvered that chicken.  He grimaced watching as they went harder and faster.  Time stood still as his limbs shut down and he could not audibly produce a sound other than small grunts tinged with a bit of ecstasy.

Suddenly just as quickly as they started, those women (AGAIN NO MEN WERE INVOLVED) finished off that chicken and declared that they had adequately serviced His Big Cock.  Brian knew from that point on that he would be under their thumb following some strange protection racket.  He was spent though...it was a long day as discussed and he was physically drained from the women working His Big Cock to the bone.  His Big Cock had never received such direct action and he needed time to recover before being ready for action again.

Brian took a few moments and holstered his gun before heading out into the mean streets of Detroit.  He would have vengeance for His Big Cock and perhaps even find a cat to tend to it, a "new pussy" as he called it.  Everyone was ready to pay, he just needed a new crew to call his own.

this doesn't seem to be a joke and seems 100% serious.

Detroit is a wonderful place,  My good friend outkast Could show you a good time .

After overhearing about a crew of females with a knack for servicing large things, Marston set off to seek this crew out... While he did an adequate job of servicing his own revolver, he knew there was no better feeling than having a gang of females getting to work to really give his big barrel what it needed.

He didn't know what it was exactly, perhaps their more dextrous hands or soft touch, but after a swift and vigorous polish from a talented female everything just felt better and his revolver would empty the contents of it's chambers in a swift manner, leaving a mess of whatever his barrel happened to be pointing at.

Roya was flabbergasted. She noticed that the amount of men listening to that inappropriate story, increased. And contrary to what she clearly felt, she realized that the men around, didn't have the same disgusted face as her. Controlling herself to not deepen the scowl on her face, she said:

"What is it that men have such obssession with the size of their cocks and revolvers?" Roya stared at the poor Cock. He wasn't even big. Those women probably stroked him out of pity, for being so small and in such neglected state. "My best guess, after listening to all this nonsensical rambling and looking at the pitiful gallinaceous thing, is that the smaller one's cock is, the greater the possibility of it's owner brag and try to praise it. The same goes for a revolver. The gun bearer probably misses all the targets." Roya sneers while the men stared at her. "Such insecurity led men to war, such way of mocking and objectifying women, led men to their graves." Said Roya, well knowingly that she herself led many men to their graves for such behaviour.

Roya sighed, crossed her arms and waited for someone to come up with some freudian sexist bullshit theory where women envy men's cocks.

Marston returns with his hand by his hip, twirling his now immaculately clean, well-oiled and carbon free revolver. With a flick of the wrist it whizzes around in a mesmerising blurry circle, in a motion that must have taken a lifetime of practice to perfect.

"Not sure where you got your information from ma'am but I think you'll find it common knowledge that the longer the barrel, the better the sight picture, and the greater the accuracy. Long barrels don’t miss, unless handled by poor operators, ever hear of a short barrelled sniper rifle..? Thought as much. In fact the only drawback I have from using this thing, is keeping it concealed..."

Marston holsters his weapon and closes his duster coat, which now has a comically large bulge protruding from it. He makes a quick 'see what I mean?' gesture, before speedily whipping his revolver from his holster and firing a single round from the hip into the farm's signpost a good 150-yards away. As he walks away still twirling his impeccable hand-cannon, you take a closer look at the signpost he shot, which is now adorned with a fresh dot above the i.