Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Eat Me

I've pretty much broken my television habit. Nowadays I only watch a few hours a week. Once in a while something catches my attention and more often than not, it's on PBS.

Last night's offering was a documentary about a failed British expedition to find the Northwest Passage. In a nutshell, two British Naval ships, commanded by someone whose name I've already forgotten, make for the Great White North. They get stuck in the ice, come down with scurvy, which is compounded by lead poisoning caused by the solder in their canned food.

Later, when people go back and try to sort out what happened, reports surface, from the local Inuits, that the men were probably snacking on each other. This is sad for reasons only I can imagine. Basically, the men were suffering from lead poisoning, and the only available meat was...them, which co-inky-dently, was chuck full 'o lead.

Of course, British officials denied the possibility, claiming that the reports came from unreliable sources--Inuits, who were "savages." (Oh, sure, because all us brown people lie.) It seems that a good Brit keeps a stiff upper lip and his teeth out of his neighbor's thigh.

I don't get the hang-up. What's the big deal? You're hungry and Bob has just died. Bob doesn't need that leg anymore. No harm done.

Now, as a rule, human, along with pig, lamb, shellfish, horse, dog, cat, monkey and a host of other critters, is not on my menu. But stick me in the frigid north with nothing to eat but my shoe leather and I assure you, "Human, it's what's for dinner." If the idea of me gnawing on you or your beloved Auntie Mabel disturbs you, then don't get on a plane with me. Cuz if the plane goes down and Pat's hungry, I gay-ron-tee, Auntie will be missing some flesh. (Not her feet, because, ew, I hate feet.)

The airline security regs are ridiculous. No sharp utensils? How in the hell am I going to slice into a juicy leg with the crappy little plastic fork they give you with your meal? Sheesh.

And the discriminatory policies againt fat people? Charging them for an extra seat? For shame. I think we should encourage them to fly. In the event of a crash in the frozen Andes, all those fatties will keep us alive until help arrives.

Oh, and in case you think I'm a hypocrite. Yes, you may snack on my corpse. I don't care. I'll--Be--Dead. (Well, I'd better be. Eaten alive? Uh, not so much.) You can attached strings to my arms and legs and dance my rotting corpse around like a smelly marionette for all I care.

I'll be too busy making the Devil's life hell to worry about the disposition of my earthly remains.
Vanished yesterday because I was feeling glooomy. Lacking the funds for chemical corrections, I had to fall back on proven cures, like drawing pretty pictures and beating my horse. Will post pretty pictures tomorrow when time allows.

All better today, but busy.

Hope you all have a well-fed day. You are what you eat.


Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005