I walked in a long line of knife-holders. We all held many knives: in our hands; on our belts; across our chests. We walked through a meadow in a long line. A voice came from above: "Put your left hand on the right shoulder of the person to the left of you." This we did. "Now take the knife in your right hand and slit the throat of the person to the left of you."

I gargled blood. Dropping and rising, I sliced the Adam's apple, took out the seeds, and ate. A curious feeling suddenly overwhelmed me. I dug my knife deep in the optical, wait, no, that hurts, I can't see. The eyeball rolled a few inches, paused, and gave up its sight. Still, I couldn't quite reach them. Digging my hand in deep, there was too much blood, and the hole was too small for my fist. "Does anybody have a saw?"

Now mad with passion, I felt the seminal ache, and rose to mount. "Oh, but I have such a headache." "Well you ought," I said, "what with mine bumping your brain." I saw that I had gone too far. The penis only wants to reproduce itself. It will give you incredible trickery in this single goal. I decided that, yes, in one eyehole and out the other would trick the Trickster. "Oh, but I have such a headache." "Just let me pop the other eye out, we're almost done."

Earhandles struck me as amazingly convenient. I felt the liquid flesh give something way as tissue broken. There was a muffled thud. Suddenly I turned to see some bastard trying to squeeze his through a hole in my calf. "That's enough, you. And don't try this one either; he's mine."

"I heard you call for a saw." A man erect with his, teeth up and down it, sharp teeth. "How's that one treating you?" I asked. "Well, you know how it is, they only want to reproduce themselves."

As I sawed the erect trickster came close to orgasm. "We can't have that," I said. "Not till his skull is sawed. Take a rest." After the rest the erectile tissue of the saw was again inflated, and I succeeded in sawing through the skull.

I decided, once my curiosity was satisfied, that I, even I, was in danger of this very process. The natives were hungry and aroused, and growing tired of the dead. I sat and ate the aching brains, wondering what the best possible way of escaping was. Finally, I ended up doing nothing but punching holes up and down his bleeding body until my turn came around.

Think about it.

What?

Just think about it. Dogs and cats fear dangerous situations, but not death.

What do you mean?

Just think about it.