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Years ago, one of my best friends was living in India. While he was there, I visited him. While there, he treated me to a royal feast. The final course, dessert, if you will, was something real special -- live, chilled monkey brains. My friend told me in the past, they cut off the monkey's head and chilled it, but now they serve the monkey live, head braced so it cannot move, scalp cut so it peals back, skull cut so it lifts off. As the monkey looks at you, sprinkle nutmeg on the brain and then spray it with compressed CO2 to chill or freeze a portion, then scoop out a spoon-full. A wonderful, high protein ice cream substitute. It tasted somewhat like vanilla ice cream, but with a nutty undertone, and the texture was more like an ice than a cream. But it was marvelous -- both in taste and in the whole experience. The monkey kept looking at me as I sprinkled its brain, zapped it with the CO2, and scooped out the twenty to thirty heaping spoonfuls. The monkey's eyes didn't glaze over and it didn't stop breathing till I had eaten at least half the brain. 

My friend told me, 

"You know, the brain doesn't feel pain. All the monkey feels is more and more of its senses and thoughts disappearing. Till there's not enough left for it to be aware of anything."

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As I said, that was years ago. Recently I had an opportunity to pay him back for his hospitality. And I wanted to one-up him but good. We had always been rivals in college and that India visit was the most memorable of my many visits to college buddies. 

Dinner was really special -- not so much for what was served as for the way it was served -- sliced turkey strips over walnut and cornmeal dressing, dripping with gravy, served on the bellies of two of my boy-toys -- a couple of nineteen year old beauties -- blond for him, raven-haired for me. Mashed potatoes with string beans and gravy on their shaved crotches ...

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jellied cranberry sauce saucers on their nipples.

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No forks or knives -- we had to put our mouth on the meat or 'taters or sauce and slurp it.

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We had a grand time licking and slurping dinner -- with several refills and a few times-out for tending to the 'asparagus spear' not on the menu.

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but what was really special was dessert. You know what I served for dessert -- a couple of hitch-hikers -- one twenty-one, the other twenty-two, strapped down so they couldn't move, their heads braced especially tight with screw-ins in a head clamp.

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Since a man is too heavy for another to carry in, I had everything on a cart which my boy-toy servers brought in at the appropriate moment.

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Their scalps had been slit to pull back, their skulls had been cut so the top lifted off, just like with the monkeys. Nutmeg, CO2 spray, plus chocolate sauce -- something my friend didn't have.

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But the experience had to be a whole lot more heady than the one with the monkeys -- no pun intended. First, it wasn't monkeys -- it was guys -- real guys. And they weren't passively resigned to their fates, like the monkeys -- these guys were straining and twisting the best they could in their bonds. And they were snarling and cursing -- at us as we first stroked their faces, then their loose scalps. 

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My friend was a little reluctant to pull back the blond's scalp until I pulled back my dessert's scalp.

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Then I had to lift off my dessert's pate first too. Ditto for sprinkle the nut-meg and spray with CO2. By now, our boys were pleading, half-crying, begging us not to hurt them. 

Of course, that only made it all the more fun. I dished out a spoonful first. I had anticipated this ever since I thought about it eating the monkey brains. It was even more delicious than the monkey brains -- such a delicate flavor, again like vanilla ice cream, but icier in texture.

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My friend began savoring his dessert now.

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Our desserts started babbling while we froze and scooped out more and more of their brains -- talking about this and that, becoming more and more incoherent as more and more of their brains disappeared down our gullets. My dessert said, 

"The world -- it's getting smaller. I can feel it. Soon it's going to rain, I can tell. Mommy, it's dark outside, can I come in?" 

It was delicious, knowing that I was eating away that guy's world -- swallowing more and more of what made him a person.

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By the time I was full and couldn't eat any more, I had eaten most of the upper part of the brain -- but none of the medulla or smaller organs. I sprayed what was left with antiseptic and put the pate back on and folded the flap of skin over the head again.

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The young man smiled and looked at me.  He tried to say something but couldn't think of any words, so he just laughed.  My friend's blond did the same thing.

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Now that they had no brains to resist, we had the boy-toys release them from their chairs,

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then take them back to the dungeon.

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They strung the mindless morons up by their wrists. They couldn't think, but they still could feel pain. 

He wouldn't understand that much with most of his brain gone, but he would still feel pain. He would scream. And his meat would be that special flavor that you get only when you roast something alive. 

My friend would be here for another week, at least. We would roast one alive tomorrow night.  

Savoring dessert, we were looking forward to tomorrow night. 

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