Welp. They’ve gone and done it again. Just when I thought that I’d be able to finally use one of my three sides on a hearty helping of human flesh, Vanderbilt snatches that dream out of my hands much like I snatch babies from their mothers and eat them.
All-you-can-eat is one thing, and I’ll certainly go to a restaurant just to cram my face with food until my stomach cannot physically hold more food and I start spewing at a projectile speed that approaches the sound barrier. But all you care to eat? That must mean human will be offered, I thought to myself, as all I care for is a taste of human flesh.
When I showed up to the Erect Boner Institute (EBI, for short), looking rather silly with my “I like my humans young” bib tied to my neck, my empty stomach let out the kind of rumbles that could only mean one thing: I craved the seared flesh of another man. But instead of piles of dismembered children, I only found heaps and heaps of red, yellow, and even purple curry. I thought that surely there was a mistake, and I walked up to the manager.
The manager must have overhead me murmuring “A baby is what I want to eat, no two ways about it!” to myself because they looked at me like I was some kind of Jeffrey Dahmer (who is an excellent woodworker, but that’s a story for another time). She immediately grabbed the three small children that were getting paid 10 cents an hour to clean the dishes and hid them in a cupboard before I could get my hands on them. I asked why in the world an all you “care” to eat facility doesn’t even serve human flesh, the singular, exact thing that I care to consume (although I wouldn’t say no to a dog either).
Unfortunately, like with most Vanderbilt meals, I was left unsatisfied and desperately hungry. As I was being carried away in handcuffs, I tried to grab a to-go drink but apparently, that’s illegal, just like my taste for cannibalism.
At least everyone in prison likes my pelvis bone tacos, I think while eating prison gruel that night.