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Finally time to tell ...

I was visiting a friend when I was served the best steak I'd ever had. Tender. Fresh. Tasty -- with a much milder flavor than you got with most beef -- sort of like a cross between beef and pork.

All through dinner, I razed about the meat -- the whole meal, but the meat especially.

My friend kept giving me hints about what it was. He said the best way to have fresh meat is to cut pieces off a living carcass.

Why not? I thought. After all, the Japs slice and eat living fish and crustaceans -- and monkeys -- eating the still quivering meat. At least we're not eating it still living! And most animals eat their meat either fresh killed or still alive. That's the way of nature.

We had been friends for years. We had met at a Rush Limbaugh rally. We both agreed on politics and the rest. Very conservative. Radically right, you might say. So much so, we both believed probably half of the human race, maybe more, were not really human. We both supported much stricter laws, the death penalty, and a return to slavery -- the only solution either of us could see to the homeless problem -- if they were slaves, at least they would have some place to stay, food, and a useful life. this freedom notion is good only for those strong enough to exercise it.

After dinner, my friend said he had a surprise for me. He took me down to the basement and showed me the source of the meat. He knew I was safe with his secret.

"At least this one is serving a useful function. He was serving life for rape and robbery but had to be released because of overcrowding.  But some friends of mine have worked out a deal with the state. They release them to us with our guarantee that they will never show up in society again. We guarantee it. And no questions are asked.
xxxxx"Some end up as slaves -- a lot in underground mines and other places no free man wants to work. Some end up as gladiators -- we have schools for them and regular shows -- with real kills. Really exciting stuff.
xxxxx"And then, some end up on our dinner plates. As you found out, they're quite tasty -- the best meat you can get. How does the saying go -- you are what you eat -- so the best thing to eat is ...."
He pointed to the still living, partially dismembered man hanging by a rope round his chest.

It was a red-head, I'd say Irish, or mostly so, about twenty-five or so. He startled me when his eyes looked to me with a pitiful sadness and he softly pleaded,

"Please! Please!"
I was ambivalent. On the one hand, didn't I believe all men are created equal and all that? On the other hand, it was the tastiest meat I had ever had, and he was a thief and a rapist and if he wasn't here, he'd be out on the streets raping and robbing and maybe killing honest, law-abiding citizens.

I pointed to what looked like the most recent wound,

"Love handles -- that the steaks we had tonight?"

"Right-o-mondo -- very tender."

My friend slapped the one rump left,
"Rump roast ..."
going around, pointing out various cuts,
"More roasts. Hands are best pressure cooked -- like feet -- with spices -- I have a recipe you'll love. Bicepses -- wrap 'em in bacon, like filets mignon. Lats and back -- great for barbecue. Pectorals -- they make great steaks -- and very showy, especially if you leave the skin on -- the nipple looks sort of like the yolk of an egg."
He slapped the young man's belly,
"The bacon. You can salt cure it or honey cure it. On a man in good physical condition like this, it's nice and lean -- not overly fat like on us."
He poked my belly. I laughed. Then he pinched the young man's cheek, looking him in the face,
"Parts already missing -- calves make great filets mignon too. Knees and ankle bones make great soup bones -- same with elbows. Thighs make great roasts -- or ground meat.
xxxxx"And the cock and balls -- a great treat. Not so much because they're tasty -- they aren't, especially, But it's a real treat eating a man's virility. You know most people throughout history have believed eating a man's balls gave you special strength. With so many believing it, it must be true.
xxxxx"And the cock -- I like filling it with a yeasty-bread dough, letting it rise over night, stretching the cock-skin to the limits -- a harder erection than this boy ever got when he was raping. Then cooking the bread with heat lamps right on him.
My friend tweaked the young man's cheeks again.
"Did it feel good? Was it the best ever?
xxxxx"Bit it off, head first, piece by piece. The only part I eat without cutting it off. I want them to feel what it's like to lose it inch by inch -- to teeth."
He grinned and licked his lips then changed the subject from cooking to preserving,
"Keep 'em cool, between forty-seven and fifty-two degrees, enough water, dry, and you don't have to feed them. They live off body fat, making for leaner and tastier meat -- as they hang here, their muscles soften and become more and more tender, more and more tasty. They'll last up to three months this way -- not that any of them ever do -- you eat them up before then."
He looked at his hanging carcass and then to me, then back to the young man.
 
"You want to do it by the book. They give you one when you get your first shipment. Extremities first -- feet then lower legs, thighs, hands, fore-arms, upper arms, then cock and balls. All the easy things to cut off.
xxxxx"Then you start on the main carcass. You take the bacon and the loins and the chitterlings and kidneys and liver, all in turn. After you take the liver and kidneys, though, you only have a couple days, three at most, before he's gone, so wait till you're ready. When you've done all this, you'll have just the upper chest -- lungs and heart -- plus head and neck.
xxxxx"When it's down to this, I like to have a fondu party. We set what's left on his back on a platter and cut off bits and pieces, fork them, and put them in the boiling oil. It's great eating the last of the guy's meat right in front of him."

"Sort of like Kafka -- let's him experience the fruits of his life of crime," I interjected.

"Right-o-mondo, again, mon capitan!"

After we went back up stairs, my friend asked me if I would like to have a supply of fresh meat in my basement too? I jumped at the opportunity -- my only concern was the cost.
"Oh, that ranges -- from very inexpensive to tres expensive. It depends on lots of factors. The more desirable, the more expensive. A white body builder with massive chest -- broad breasted, I like to call them -- twenty -- twenty-three, no more -- white, blond hair, blue eyes, naturally hairless body, strong jaw, good nose, movie-star looks -- you're looking at five, six thousand dollars, maybe more. But if you're not so picky, say thirty, sort of average looks, dark hair, skinny or a tad-bit chubby -- chubby's better, he'll loose the fat and tenderize better than a body builder anyway -- you're looking at two-fifty, maybe three hundred dollars.
xxxxx"You can get cheaper -- a black, a Mexican, a sand-nigger, an old guy -- forty, fifty -- a chink -- any of these, you can probably get for a hundred, hundred-fifty dollars. But you don't want any of these."

"Three hundred -- I can't believe it. What's that -- two dollars a pound, give or take, on the hoof. That's damn cheap!"

"Remember, we get them for transportation costs. The state gives them to us. We try to pass the savings along to our friends."

"Sign me up!"

A week later, I got a phone call,
"Mr Randall?"

"Yes?"

"I'm from Meat-R-Us; we will be having a delivery truck in your area tomorrow. Can we arrange for a stop?"

"I've been looking forward to it for a week now. Yes, I'll be here all day tomorrow."

"You understand there is a five hundred dollar one-time-only deposit fee for the shipping case. We'll pick it up at the next delivery."

"Yes, this was explained to me."

"We were told you'll probably be most interested in the two-hundred-fifty to three-fifty range."

"Yes."

"It's cash on delivery."

"Of course."

"We'll see you tomorrow -- about two or so in the afternoon."

"I'll be waiting."

The truck was a regular delivery truck, only very small markings -- like what delivers a mail-order television or something else big like that. Nothing special looking at all.

It backed up to close to the garage door and I came out. I was met by a nicely dressed older man who asked for my driver's license and asked some questions about my friend only a friend would know. Then he said,

"Got a place ready?"

"You bet!"

"Want to look over the merchandise?"

I nodded. The driver opened the back and dropped the lift. The older man, the driver, and I stepped onto it and were lifted to the truck bed. Inside there were boxes on top of boxes -- each about three-foot cube, with air holes and fans in each -- just two high, one deep along the both sides of the truck -- about thirty-five or so -- with room for about five more.
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The man stopped me in front of the third box in, on the right. He pressed a button and a light came on inside the box and I looked in. There inside the box and I saw a guy about twenty-eight to thirty, I'd say, on his back, feet tied and hoisted overhead, arms wrapped behind his knees, wrists tied. He was looking up to the eye-holes, right at me.

I was startled but then realized he couldn't possibly see me, so I chuckled.

"Twenty-nine years old, five-nine, one hundred forty-seven pounds. Convicted burglar; suspected of rape and assault. Released because of overcrowding. Two-hundred eighty-five dollars."
He stepped me a couple boxes over and turned on a light inside that. There was another man, similarly trussed, looking to me as I looked in.
"Twenty-four, five-eleven, one sixty-three pounds. Burglar, suspected of rape. Three hundred fifty dollars."
Several more examples, all priced from two hundred-fifty to four hundred dollars. Then he stepped me to another box, double height but not quite so wide either way,
"I just want you to see what some lucky person will be buying."
I looked in -- another young man. But standing on his feet, hands chained. And something else, this man had muscles that just wouldn't quit. A real body builder; soon as the light came on, he started posing.
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"Twenty-one years old. Six-two, two-hundred thirty pounds, fifty-one inch chest, twenty-one inch bicepses, thirty inch thighs, thirty-one inch waist, eighteen inch calves. Blond, blue eyes, movie-star face. Convicted of burglary, accused of rape. Not released -- supposedly escaped. Forty-five hundred dollars."
"Who buys a real specimen like this?"
"Someone giving a party, probably. Trying to show off to rich friends or clients. One guy was trying to impress some Jap clients -- they really got off on it -- they love to eat things alive. Says they took turns sitting on the guy's lap, carving pieces of his pectorals and popping them in their mouths right in front of the guy's face. Rich, isn't it!"

"You can say that again!"

I ended taking the first guy they showed me. They uncrated the cart and I helped carry the crate into my basement -- into the old furnace room -- with cinder-block walls and asbestos ceiling. I gave them eight hundred dollars -- fifteen extra as a tip -- and they left me to uncrate my living carcass.

I closed and locked the steel-clad door with combination pad-locks then started what was the most exciting thing I have ever done -- uncrating a man I would be eating over the next several weeks.

I opened the side. The guy inside started squirming and trying to plead. I gave him a slap on his butt and he just squirmed more. I grinned and reached for his balls and squeezed them.

"God-damn faggot!"
I grabbed his balls good and punched them as hard as I could, given the cramped quarters and my having to balance on my knees.

He screamed and started cursing. I just laughed at him and backed out and got the hypo they had given me and then got down again and shoved it in his butt and pushed the contents into his glutes.

Within about a minute or so, he quit struggling or screaming. He just mumbled, his head lolling. I unsnapped the rope from the crate-ceiling and dragged him out of the box.

It took a couple minutes, but I got his arms stretched over his legs without untying either wrists or ankles.

I stretched him out and tied his wrists straps to pulley arrangement I had set up and pulled him up, hanging him by his wrists. I checked to be sure he could breathe and make sure his wrists weren't too constricted -- I didn't want gangrene setting in before I could dispose of him -- down the toilet as my crap.

Then I went upstairs and read the how-too book they had given me.

When I came back down, he was starting to rouse. The book had said to take off a leg from the knee down right away -- so as to immobilize him and start sapping his strength and will. So before he gained full consciousness, I took one of the knives they had delivered in the opening package and plugged it in -- it was a combination electric knife and cauterizer. It got very hot before the light came on, telling me it was OK to start carving.
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A cut around the top of his right knee and cut to the bone. The knife cut easily, searing the flesh as it cut, so there was very little blood.

When I got to his knee, I started learning butchering. I had cut cow-knees before for soup, and a man's knee is much like that. Once I got the knee mostly cut through, I took ahold the lower leg and started pulling it and twisting it.

The guy roused and started screaming.

God damn! What are you doing!"

"I'm cutting your leg off, what does it feel like!" I chuckled.

"God damn! I'll ...."

"You'll what, boy!" I said, reaching up and grabbing his balls.

I squeezed and jerked them down, hard, putting the knife down, and punching his balls as hard as I could.

He screamed and gasped hard and stopped fighting me. But soon as I grabbed his lower leg again and started twisting it again, he started struggling all over again. But that was good -- his jerking made his knee joint break through all the much quicker.

His knee was spurting blood and I quickly pressed the hot knife against the spurts, searing them closed, one by one, till there was just a slow ooze -- more clear stuff than blood.

I set the leg to the side and opened a jar of goop they had given me and spread it over the wound.

The guy started crying, sobbing more than cursing,

"You've ruined me! You've ruined me! Oh God! Oh Jesus!"
I laughed at him,
"You ruined yourself. It's not me who made you break in honest peoples' houses and steal their stuff. It's not me who made you rape those girls. It's not me who ruined you. It's you."

"Man, I didn't do any of that stuff. I mean, yeh, I stole a little, but just to feed my baby sister. I never raped nobody."

"What's this about your baby sister."

"Yeh, yeh -- I had to steal to get money to get her food. Our mom, she ran off when I was just a kid. Our pa, he'd run off long time before that."

"So you had to steal to eat, right?"

"How does marijuana and crack taste? I wouldn't know."

"No, not me. Never did any of that stuff. Honest!"

"And I never ate chocolate."

"Sweet Jesus, save me!"

"Better think hard about all that Sunday School stuff you laughed at when you were a kid. Better be getting right with God -- you'll have a few weeks to do so. So no bad thoughts."

I patted him on his forehead. He looked up at me with the same sad eyes the red-head had at my friend's house. It made me feel somewhat ambivalent again.

But not for long. I cleaned off the knife and put it back then took the leg upstairs to the kitchen and cut the foot off and cut the calf muscle into four filets mignon, tooth-picking bacon slices around them. I stripped the rest of the meat from the leg bone and chopped it into three/four inch lengths.

I wrapped the foot and the meat in wrapper paper and took them downstairs to the fridge down there.

Then I boiled the bones for the marrow, chopped onions, carrots, potatoes, celery, a little cabbage, and threw it all in and made a thick soup.

I pulled out the bones and put them in the oven and put it on clean -- eight hundred degrees -- for a couple hours and called my friend.

I invited him over as my first guest. And then went up to take my nap. After a couple hours, I came down, opened the oven, took the bone powder out of the oven and spread it on the roses, went down and got the filets mignon and put started broiling them in the oven. A little corn, a little salad, and a great meal.

It was the best filet mignon I had ever had. My friend was quite happy I was happy. We both examined the living carcass and talked with him a few minutes, making fun of him, taunting him for his life of crime and growing up in poverty -- ending up like this.

"Like I always said, the founding fathers were right on most things, but not this all men being created equal thing. Some are just animals. And that's all they are. Better use them as beasts and cattle -- at least they're good for something that way."
This guy had no way of knowing we were just repeating an earlier conversation for his benefit -- and our amusement.

I had moved in some easy chairs and we sat down and sipped our after dinner sherries, smoked cigars, and talked politics and recipes, every-so-often getting up and stroking the guy's butt or belly, mentioning various ways of cooking the meat.

It was a beautiful evening's entertainment -- all the better since it was now my man we were discussing.

Over the next couple days, I cooked the foot in a pressure cooker with the spices recommended and had it as the entree for another friend, whom I was now introducing to this marvelous new dining experience. Of course, I had taken all the meat from the bones first, so it looked more like the tender meat off the bones of spare-ribs than anything else.

He raved, of course, and, after feeling him out on his ideas about things I wasn't quite sure of, I took him down to 'meet the meat', as Zaphod Beeblebrox called it at Milliway's.
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While there, I let him help me cut off the meat's other leg, right at the knee. He was only too glad to help. And the meat put on a good show -- screaming, pleading, twisting back and forth, trying to bargain -- to give us a treasure he had stashed away.

"You know, with all these lies you've been telling, you're going to hell now for sure, boy. I'd be telling the truth, if I was you. You're not going to be talking your way out of anything by lying. And maybe you'll just get right with God if you stop lying for the first time in your life."
My friend helped me sear the spurters and goop the wound and carry the leg up to the kitchen for cutting into fillets mignon and other parts. We wrapped the fillets with bacon, chopped the bones to soup-length, and put everything into the fridge.

My friend stayed over and we had the best sex either of us had had ever -- seven times, too! What they say is right -- human meat invigorates better than anything. The way the meat got me going, I couldn't wait for the testicles! But, then, I would have to -- I was following the book to the letter. At least for now.

In the morning, we had fillets mignon for breakfast along with eggs, cantaloupe, grapefruit juice, and coffee. We talked about what a good time we had last night -- dinner, meeting the meat, the sex, and the sex, and the sex. We discussed plans for the day. We decided to take care of kitchen duties this morning then go out to the mall this afternoon.

We made soup-stock and then put the bones in the oven along with the foot bones from last night's repast. We baked them at eight hundred degrees -- on the cleaning cycle.

Because we didn't want to have foot or fillets this evening, my friend and I decided we would have a roast. That meant cutting off some more meat from our carcass.

When we got started, I was quite glad he was here to help -- this next chunk was quite a bit more difficult to cut than the legs had been. My friend steadied the meat, keeping him from thrashing around so much.

The next cut was the thigh -- including buttocks. I had to cut the skin along the butt crack, around the ass, to the side of the cock and balls, and across where the legs folds at the lap. Carving to the bone was much more difficult than cutting the knee. I hat to be careful not to cut into the abdomen -- from behind as well as from the front. I did what the book said and basically let the knife follow the muscle and cut the cartilage at the pelvic bones. I made sure I didn't let the knife go in and perforate bowl.

It was really difficult and took a good hour -- I didn't want to rush it too much, but I did want to get it over with -- it was really nerve wracking -- not the least because of all the tension and pain in the air exuding from the meat -- he was screaming so much I couldn't think straight.

But I did get everything cut through and my friend and I were able to wrench off the thigh, sear off the bleeders, and then goop the wound.

It was getting really serious now. This amputation was real butchering -- not like cutting the legs off.

After we took the thigh and butt upstairs and cut the rump into a large roast, the thigh into bone-in steaks, and ground up the left-overs for hamburger, we decided to go down and take some of the hurt out of the guy.

We lowered him down. I snapped the catch to a clothes pole I had an eye through -- in the middle. We lay his back across the pole, untied his hands, stretched his arms over the pole, back over, crucifixion style, then tied a rope from wrist to wrist so he couldn't stretch his hands out and drop off the pole once we pulled it up.

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We pulled him up, off the floor and let him hang there -- crucifixion fashion -- at least it was better than hanging by his wrists.

He hadn't struggled at all this time. We weren't cutting, so I guess he had resigned himself to his fate -- as long as he wasn't in desperate pain, he wouldn't fight us.

It was more than a week before I needed any more meat from the carcass. My friend was long gone back home. I had been giving my meat water to keep him from dehydrating. I was tempted to shave his face -- the book said it was OK to shave him -- but I rather liked his beard shadow -- rapidly turning into a real beard.

He no longer tried to bargain. He no longer pleaded. He no longer cursed. If anything, he seemed grateful -- maybe that he, unlike most of us, knew his fate -- like the man condemned to the electric chair going with a spring in his step -- knowing that he wouldn't be suffering much longer.

I made a bargain with him -- I would lower him to the ground so cutting his other thigh off wouldn't be so difficult, if he wouldn't struggle. He said he would try and I lowered him and turned him onto his belly. He grimaced and gasped and inhaled deeply as I started cutting his other buttocks, along the perineum, then turned him over and cut across the fold between leg and abdomen.

He squeezed his hands tight as I cut deeper and deeper into the meat, again making sure not to perforate bowel -- following the line of the muscle, trying to cut the tendons and not the muscle itself, letting the muscle pull itself away from the bone, away from the pelvis bones.

He was praying over and over under his breath, something like'Sweet Jesus! Take me to your bosom!' Before he knew it, I was sealing the spurters and gooping the wound.

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I pulled him back us to hang by the rod again. I patted him on the head and he said,

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you."
That took me back. I just patted him again and then carried his thigh upstairs for carving into a rump roast and thigh steaks.

I had several friends over for steaks and roasts, over the next several weeks. I got close to sharing the secret with a couple of them, but didn't -- I didn't trust them enough with such a delicate matter. Some of them actually expressed a hope that Clinton would get the country moving again -- as if that was a real possibility for a demonicrat! You just can't trust someone who will let himself be swayed by such left-wing-radical propaganda! Talk about betraying one's class! And he had done so well under Reaganomics! I guess it takes all kinds.

Any way, it was the third week after I got my first living carcass I got a phone call, inquiring into my progress. I told them I had only used the thighs and legs and buttocks.

"You're more than half way through. You don't have any parties scheduled, do you?"

"No."

"Then you'll probably be needing us again in a couple weeks. I am assuming you are enjoying your purchase."

"Most definitely."

"And you will want to continue with our services."

"Of course."

"We'll be calling again in a week to set up a delivery date."

"What time?"

"We'll get through. If you're not home, we'll call back."


That was it.

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Over the next week, I didn't have anyone over and so I only cut off an arm -- near the shoulder. That meant I had to rehang him again -- he couldn't hang from the pole like before. I wrapped a rope round his chest and under his arm pits a couple times and hung him from that.

He was getting much lighter and found breathing easier than before.

I kept giving him water -- with sugar in it now -- lemonade or limeade, sometimes CokeTM. He really appreciated it -- any little thing now. He smiled when I petted his head. He hummed like he was singing when I gave him a bath. He talked a lot now -- but not what you'd think he'd talk about. Things like mountain climbing and deep sea diving and exploring Olympus Mons on Mars. I was surprised he knew the name.

When it came time to cut off his other arm, he blurted out,

"If thine eye offend you, pluck it out; if thy arm offend you, cut it off!"
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Then he giggled. He sung Jesus Loves Me, This I Know! as I was cutting off his left arm. He didn't cry -- there weren't even tears in his eyes. He was grinning as I seared off the bleeders and laughed in a sing-song voice,
"Didn't hurt a bit! No it didn't. Not at all. Not at all. Not at all."
That evening there was the call again. I arranged for my second delivery a week hence.

I had my friend who introduced me to the delights of fresh meat over to share the special parts -- the cock and balls. We filled the scrotum with a sweet cherry liqueur and the three cock-sinuses -- head and the two sides of the shaft -- with a yeast-rising dough and left it over night -- the testicles to cook in the marinade and the cock-bread to rise hard and cook slowly.

Overnight we had super sex again, anticipating the special treat in the morning.

In the morning took the meat down and laid him on his back on a table and slit open his scrotum, catching the liqueur on a plate then dividing it between two small goblets. We stretched the testicles out, pushed back the mass of blood vessels. they pealed back, cooked tender by the wine over night. Then we sliced the testicles into thin slices while they were still attached to the carcass.

The meat squirmed, but tried not to -- trying to accept his fate without protest. He said, in a childish voice,

"The finest gold goes through the hottest flames. So too, the chosen of the Lord go through more pain to receive more bliss in heaven!"

"How long has he been saying things like that?"

"More than a week now."

"Some kind of religious nut?"

"Must be."

"But a tasty one!"


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We both sniggered and sliced the penis-bread into bite-sized chunks and dipped them into the liquor. Then we hung him back up and went out and worked in the garden for a while, weeding, pruning, cutting roses.
"While I'm here, I better show you how to cut the bacon. It can be tricky."


After lunch, we took the meat down again and laid him on the table, on hospital pad -- one of those blue ones like a huge band-aid pad.

"Now this can be messy. The guts are held in by the abdominals -- the bacon. When you cut those, you've got to wrap the guts back in, or he won't last more than two, three days at the most.
xxxxx"Soon as I cut the meat, you put one of these pads on the guts and press on them. Then we'll wrap them in, so he can last another week or more."

"I need him to last a week -- I won't be getting the next delivery till next week and don't want to run out of meat before then."

He took the knife and drew it lightly across the meat's belly, straight down the zipper line, drawing a bead of blood.
"We cut right down the middle to take pressure off the muscles so they'll cut easier."
He cut through the abdominal wall. It peeled apart, pinkish gray eels wriggled into view as the muscles pulled back to both sides.
"Now we cut one slab then the other."
Quickly now, he slit the muscle, pulling it back before cutting through all the way.
"You've got to hold it away so you don't perforate the bowel."
Soon as he had the slabs of meat cut off, he said,
"Put the pad on and hold the guts in so they don't fall out onto the table."
I held the guts in place the best I could. They seemed to gush around more like slimy mud than anything really solid.

As I held the guts in place, my friend started wrapping the carcass in AceTM bandages. He lay an end across the pad and lifted the tail-bone.

"Can you hold your tail up in the air?"
The living carcass lifted his tail into the air, grinning. My friend quickly wrapped the bandage round several times then took another one and wrapped that tighter. He wound the bottom area over and over, spreading the wrap higher and higher up the torso till he had wrapped the guts in tight. He tucked the ends in then put several of the metal clips on just to be sure.
"We can hang him back up now."

"Hang me up, hang me up! Blow the man down!"

"I don't know about this one. How much fun is it if you've got a crazy one. I like 'em to suffer all the way to the end. It just doesn't seem right if he doesn't know what's happening to him."

"Maybe. I don't know. He knew and struggled and cursed before. But he broke about a week ago -- maybe a couple weeks. Since then, he's cooperated with me and not cursed a bit."

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My friend just shook his head.

After we hung him up again, we took the bacon upstairs.

"We can salt-cure it or sugar cure it. Either way, it'll take some time. This meat you'll have to wait for -- three months at least."
We decided to honey cure the bacon and coated it in honey and wrapped it in burlap then set it aside in a cool place in the basement.
"Next one, let's take one of the thighs and make a sugar-cured ham of that," I suggested.
A few days later, my friend was back to help me with the chitterlings. I was appreciative of his help -- things were getting more difficult to do -- especially if I wanted him to last any time.

We put a new thirty-gallon plastic garbage pail under him and started unwrapping the bandages. The blue pad started showing -- more purple now with all the blood soaked into the white padding.

The carcass started becoming interested in what was happening, looking down and singing,

Rock-a-by baby,
In a tree top --
Along comes the wind,
And there you go flop!
He started giggling. But his giggles turned to shrieks and screams as a long coil of his intestines suddenly fell out with a splat.
"Now, that's more like it! He should be screaming! It should hurt the mother-fucker!"
I don't know if I liked the new pain. In a way, I was feeling sorry for the bastard. True, he deserved every bit of what he was getting, but still, you have to feel some compassion for your fellow man -- even if he is a criminal -- you're kinder to a rabid dog than we've been to him.

My ambivalence, like before, resolved to more curiosity and bemusement with what was happening than to compassion. I wondered why, after all these days of stoic -- or, should I say, blithering -- acceptance did he start screaming.

I asked my friend.

"I don't know. They always scream when they're gutted. Mine have always screamed all the time, so I can't tell you what's different."
He finished unwrapping the bandages and pulled off the hospital pad and started pulling out the rest of the intestines. That's when the carcass started screaming all over again.

My friend grabbed a link of intestines and squeezed them. Just a little mumbling. Then he pinched them. No reaction. Then he stretched them -- and the screams were as fierce as ever.

We spent the next several minutes amusing ourselves stretching his intestines -- making him scream between prayers:

"Please, Jesus! Kill me now! Please, Jesus! Take me home!"
After he passed out from the pain it wasn't any more fun, so we cut off the guts at the esophagus -- my friend reaching up and pulling the stomach out, cutting it off at the neck with the cauterizing knife, and tied it off and let it unstretch back into the chest cavity, hiding in the shiny red goo that was the bottom of the diaphragm and liver.
"Why did you tie it off?"

"So you can still give him water. Won't absorb anywhere near as easy, but it will some."


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Then my friend drew a line round the back, about as high as the butt-crack had been, and cut through the meat and spine with the knife, dropping the pelvis and anything left below that line into the pail.

We put the pelvis into a large pot and boiled off the meat then broke it up and boiled the bones before putting them into the oven for desiccation. We washed the guts -- outside and in -- constricting the neck of the stomach round the laundry faucet and forcing water through until the water came out clear. It didn't take very long because he hadn't had anything per ora except water, juices, and the like for nearly a month. There were a few squishy organs -- the spleen and pancreas and the like -- one sort of like a kidney and the other like the flat worm you had to dissect in high school biology. We washed everything we could identify and ground up the rest in the garbage disposal and flushed it away.

We chopped the intestines -- chitterlings -- into six to nine inch lengths, fried some with onions and peppers and wrapped what was left in paper for later. After lunch, we went out for a while. That evening, we decided neither of us was in the mood for what we had on hand. We wanted more real meat, not organs or soup, so we went down and lowered the carcass and each of us chopped off what was left of an arm -- at the shoulder socket.

Since there was no place now to hang him up by, I suggested a hangman's noose I kept in a drawer. We weren't sure whether this would do him in or not, but it was only a couple or three more days till the delivery of the next carcass, so we decided to give it a try.

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I undid the straps from the hoist-clip and tied on the loose end of the noose. Then we put the noose round the carcass' neck, snugged it a little, and lifted him up -- slowly. He gurgled and choked a little, saying,

"I'm coming home, sweet Jesus! I'm coming home!"

But he didn't die. He wasn't really choking that much -- he didn't have enough weight to strangle -- certainly not enough to break his neck. He just hung there, his eyes closed, humming Amazing Grace. What was left of him turned slowly, like the rope was unwinding, then stopped, with him facing the back corner. That's the way my friend and I left him. We went upstairs to prepare dinner.

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The next noon, I pulled out his liver, sliced off some and wrapped the rest. I had fried liver and onions. That evening I trimmed off the meat from the ribs down -- including the floating ribs. Now all that was left was the chest cavity -- and neck and head, of course. The book said he would live only maybe another thirty-six hours at the most, so I asked both my in-on-it friends for lunch the next day.

I was going to roast what was left of the carcass in the oven but thought up a much better idea during my sleep that night.

With my friends there to enjoy it, I placed heat lamps round the carcass' chest -- front, sides, and back. I had an ice-pack on his head and the fan blowing across his face and underside -- and the air on cold. This way, just the meat on the outside would cook.

It took all morning, but by one in the afternoon, his chest looked bright red, like a lobster. I poked his skin with a carving fork and it oozed with juices.

We took the carcass down and put it on a platter and took it upstairs for a lunch.
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That was when the delivery truck rolled up. We invited the two men in to share our repast. They accepted,
"It isn't often we get invited in for lunch. We're usually too early or too late. Not that we don't enjoy our own dinner carcasses -- it's just that it's always nice to see -- and taste -- what others do."
The carcass was still conscious and watched as we carved his pectorals and laterals away, wolfing down large chunks of his flesh till all that was left was bare ribs over his still beating heart, slowly pumping diaphragm.

We went out and looked at the new selection. My friends made suggestions but I decided to go with another brunette -- this one somewhat sexier looking -- I might just 'play' with him during his 'term of service'.

After we got the crate down into the basement and the side off, we carried what was left of last month's meat down for the new meat to see. Last month's laughed and said,

"I wouldn't mind eating some of that one myself!"
He coughed and started to choke. The older, distinguished gentleman -- the salesman -- reminded me,
"We have to take the head back. You know, as proof. It's in the book."

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

I took out the knife and plugged it in. While it was getting hot, I smiled at the carcass, bent down and kissed his forehead, and told him,

"You're going home now...."