A Taste to Die For

food for everyone

A Taste to Die For

 

     When I was a boy I loved to play in the mud with the pigs. It felt good to roll around in the wet dirt squealing and grunting along with the fat hogs and their little wild piglets. I felt free and alive. The beast within roared with delight. But my swimming with swine always ended up with my mama picking me up out of the mud covered in pig s**t. With a half grin she always said, “Oink, Oink, Oink, you’re a little piggy no more. Now it’s time to put on your man shoes.  You’re daddy’s hungry and has a hankering for some meat. Go butcher a boar of your choosing. Make thin cuts, it maximizes the servings.”  

 

      At first I felt bad about skinning and gutting hogs that I played and frolicked with in the mud. But after a time it just seemed natural and right. We all got to eat and pig meat tasted mighty fine. It also honed me up on the killing skills that are needed to survive and thrive in this god forsaken world. But I realized my love of animals was causing an inner conflict within me. How can I eat and kill them when I wanted to be free, unfettered, and wild like them. The beast within me was distressed. But a solution slowly formed.  It was just a matter of time before my killing preference and taste for meat shifted from animal to man.  My mommy and daddy always told me what you eat is what will define you. Human meat is what I now eat and it made me what I am; one mother-f*****g cannibal man.

 

     I became a man of discriminating tastes. My taste buds had become quite refined. I learned how to skin, filet, slice, dice, and sauté human meat to near perfection. I also learned how to make a delicious soup out of the blood using an old family recipe.  Through trial and error I learned that not all human folk tasted the same.  Female meat was tenderer and less gamey than males.  Also the age of the human animal was a determining factor concerning varying tastes. To make good soup one needed an aged human. Young meat was more sweet and tender than that of an older one.  The best ages to hunt and eat were those from eighteen to fifty-five. Anything younger or older just didn’t taste right.  People were like refined wines and I cultivated all my senses picking only the best hosts for my choice meats and soups.

 

     I became filthy rich by selling my meats and soups to like-minded individuals on the dark web. I got rave reviews from all who sampled my gourmet delights. I also created a drink out of particular bloods and bodily fluids. People who drank it claimed it had a rejuvenating effect.

I was the toast of the cannibal eating community.

 

     Now you might’ve wondered where I got my supply of human foodstuffs from.  Soup kitchens my friend, lots and lots of soup kitchens. I was the Soup Kitchen King of Tulsa Oklahoma. All the homeless and indigenous folk flocked to my kitchens.  They loved my soups and meats. I fattened them up and gave them a place to eat and sleep.  I killed and cooked those who fit my criteria. They were invisible people that no one missed. And the irony of it all is I became a beloved figure in Oklahoma. I even got on the cover of Time Magazine.  

 

     But all good things eventually come to an end. Mine came because I chose the wrong subject to kill. It turned out that she was a runaway heiress. She was definitely missed. When they opened my storage freezers and saw those hanging cadavers, all hell broke loose.  

 

 Warden, I want my own cell. Only then will I tell you where the bones are buried.