If you can find me to catch me to bite me, you'll find that I taste sweet. All the hitting the ceilings and bumping into walls and shouldering doors swollen in their jambs - all that has a tenderizing effect on a body. I'm a delicacy in any of the places you could think of where they eat strange things. A little raspberry chipotle marinade and a few hours over a roasting pit, dug by your dad, and I'm the tastiest dish on this side of Lake Michigan.
It' all cool! Everybody's got a little cannibal in them.
And you don't have to worry about me telling. Discretion runs in the family after all. For years people have been biting my relatives, predecessors, antecedents and cousins. And none of us has ever breathed a word. Once, in the early 20th century, a Silverleaf boychild pondered going to the authorities, but that's as far is it's ever gotten. Zipped lips with a little hot glue to ensure extra hold. That's our promise to you.
So, get out your knife and fork, sweetness, and maybe your finest silver spoon. I got a recipe you can't miss out on.
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this is a funny line of thought because
ReplyDeletea) it makes me want to slink into your room late at night and nibble/gnaw/chew on this wonkaesque sweetness you boast
but
b) it makes me kind of terrified that you, part of this insidious and secretive line of cannibals, are going to beat me to the munch.
also
c) usually the only exceptions i make to my vegetarianism are orphans...so this is a sticky-sweet dilemma.
"Zipped lips with a little hot glue to ensure extra hold. That's our promise to you."
this is a disturbing image. i like it. you creeper you.