I was not very popular there, not being a good egg picker and all, so I was permanently assigned the worst job in the place—the dead chicken detail.  This involved taking a wheel barrow down through all the rows and ripping the dead chickens out of the cages with a metal hook.  You would be amazed as what chickens will do to each other crammed together like that.  I would pull the dead chickens out, fill up the wheel barrow with them and wheel it out front to a big dump truck where I would throw them in the back.  The truck would then take them out back and dump them into the giant pits of chicken crap.  Now, this whole experience was an abject lesson in carnage and corruption bordering on the biblical.  We are talking about tens of thousands of chickens all crammed together and insane and only too happy to tear each other to shreds and we are talking about hundreds of dead chickens coming out of each house every day.
All of these dead chickens were in various stages of decay and putrescence.  Often they would be huge, bloated and purple and they would virtually explode with the most vile corruption you can imagine when you sank the hook into them and tried to pull them out—teaming with rot and maggots.  Other times they were flattened and mashed down into the bottom of the cages and you had to rip them free, usually in pieces and with just enough juice and decay to make it interesting.  And the stench was simply indescribable.  Ripe, rotting, succulent chicken corpses in 95 degree heat, virtually exploding with a virulence as might come from the sewers of hell itself, combined with the omnipresent, poisonous, ammonia laden, toxic miasma of the waste of a hundred thousand chickens. It seemed to embody the very essence of corruption and contamination and I don’t think I have ever felt completely cleansed from it.  I spent entire days in that sweltering hellhole pulling rotting chicken carcasses by the dozen out of the cages, all the while fighting off the urge to vomit.