Masters of Gamecocking: Erica "Sly" Saleh

Erica “Sly” Saleh named her rooster after a dead teenage girl.

The girl’s family has pressed legal charges. It’s a big courtroom drama thing. But Erica doesn’t give a shit.

Some say the spirit of the young girl has gone on to inhabit the gamecock’s body. Julie Simmons preens itself for long hours, its crows sound disturbingly human. And then, when it’s thrown in the pit, Julie Simmons goes NUTS.

After all, teenage girls are MEAN.

And when they grow into women like “Sly” Saleh, they get even meaner.

It’s a popular legend that it’s impossible to kill Julie Simmons. Beat it, burn it, drown it, it’ll keep on crying its teenage cry.

The thing leaks an endless supply of blood! Break its neck and it’ll snap itself back into place! The thing doesn’t die! Maybe it’s already dead? Is this a rooster-girl-ghost?

Spooky, man.

See Julie Simmons: Friday and Saturday! In all honesty, it’s emotionally honest and structurally compelling!

Masters of Gamecocking: Ry Dowler

I once asked Ry Dowler why he named his rooster “The Gratification.”

He punched me in the face.

And as I was trying to keep the blood off my shirt, he said: “Cause it’s the only thing that still gives me satisfaction in this world.”

And then he punched me in the face again.

The Gratification is an intimate kind of beast. It circles its prey. It steps in, then out, and then in again. His rivals and detractors try and say that Ry loans out The Gratification for weird farm yard pornography. But anyone who knows The Gratification knows this animal knows it would never put up with that.

A week or so ago, Ry claimed he tore his carotid artery. We all know that’s bullshit. It was The Gratification, refusing to be tamed.

Come see The Gratification this Friday or Saturday.

It’s likely though, that you’re gonna end up in the hospital.

Masters of Gamecocking: Angie Hanks

Let’s imagine an alternate universe, okay?

In this universe, the members of Youngblood never sat down in front of a keyboard or set foot in a theatre. Instead, they devoted their time and energy to becoming world-class gamecockers.

Every Wednesday they gather in the seedy basement of some dilapidated Hells Kitchen building, show off their latest birds, and proceed to tear each other apart.

Let’s also say that the same qualities that made these people damn good playwrights also shines through in the breeding/training of their gamefowl. So each of their birds is imbued with the same qualities that make their plays really fucking good and distinct. A Ryan Dowler gamecock is a lot different from a Chiara Atik gamecock. Cool?

Anyway. This is probably what that world would look like.

I heard that Angie Hanks has been convicted of a number of minor to major felonies and doesn't dare return to the Dallas streets she once ruled over. Angie must miss the place, though, cause she shoved the state of Texas into the skin of a rooster, and she named that thing Big Tex.

At first, maybe you think Big Tex is a little cute. Because, I mean, look at that crown, and look at all those funny little feathers around its neck, right? And as it’s dancing around the pit, you smile and think: “This is a nice bird. This is a bird I wouldn’t mind sending a postcard of to my granddaughter.” But then, fuck! When you least expect it, Big Tex rears up to its full 14.1 inches and starts launching itself at its opponent! Its spurs are all red; the audience is in shock! And when its opponent’s down, Jesus, it goes right for the crowd! I heard Big Tex broke a kid’s nose once. Seriously.

And after the fight, you wake up at 4 AM thinking, “My God, what kind of monster is Big Tex? That thing is scary as all hell.” Big Tex haunts you, man; it haunts you like a cowboy’s ghost.

Big Tex closed up shop last Saturday; you, sir/ma’am, are a fool if you missed it. More Unfiltered to come! Do yourself a favor and keep up!