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“Anything,” I say. “Anything but that.” They were trying to make me eat chicken. As an intelligence agent I had been through the wringer many times — torture, torture, forever torture. But I hate chicken. I detest chicken. I would tell them anything if I had to eat chicken.
By Karl GrossmanNovember 1977Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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