I walk into my kitchen in the morning, coffee already percolating. I open the refrigerator, reach past last night's leftover human liver, grab the jar of jellied brains. I take a bag of dried human skins, pour the jellied brains in a bowl, and begin dipping and crunching. A sudden hankering for some Negro bowel-sausages hits me, the really thick kind, stuffed with what I don't want to know. I open my freezer and see that all I have are the Caucasian variety, and resign myself that these will have to do.

Did you know in some cannibal societies they used to auction humans off as food products?

No. But does it matter?

Can you imagine that? I mean, these people they were selling, they could speak, they could hear everything said about them. Can you imagine looking someone in the eye and telling him about how you will make a big feast of the person?

It really doesn't matter what they used to do. I don't care.

You don't care? You don't care? You don't care?