“SHIT! THE DINNER!
THIRTY SEVEN DEGREES!
I’VE TO LOEWR
COLD-STORE TEMPERATURE,
THE CORPSE IS GOING TO PUTREFY,
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG I’LL BE ABLE TO DEVOUR HER.”

OUR MASTER OF CULINARY ART NOW DISMEMBER THE CORPSE.
HE’S COVERED WITH BLOOD.
HE’S FUCKING EXCITED.
HE CANNOT COME BACK ON THE BLOOD CALL.
HE’S FUCKING EXCITED.
HE’S COVERED WITH BLOOD.

“MAYBE IT’S NOT NORMAL DOING THAT.
MAYBE SHE WANTED TO LIVE!?
MAYBE THE GIRL (NOW DEAD) DOESN’T LOVE ME!?
SHIT! MAYBE I AM A FUCKING PSICHOPATIC!

NO! NOW SHE’S MORE BEAUTIFUL!
BLOODY!
MAYBE SHE WANTED TO LIVE!?
NO!
I AM NOT A PSICHOPATIC!
GORE! BLOOD! YEAH!”

OUR MASTER OF ANTHROPOPHAGY ART NOW DISMEMBER THE CORPSE.
HE’S FUCKING EXCITED.
HE’S COVERED WITH BLOOD.
“GORE! BLOOD! YEAH!”
ANTHROPOPHAGY AND SEX WITH SEX.

“MAYBE IT’S NOT NORMAL DOING THAT.
MAYBE SHE WANTED TO LIVE!?
MAYBE THIS GIRL DOESN’T LOVE ME!?
I AM NOT A PSICHOPATIC!

MAYBE IN THE BLADDES HAS REMAINED URINE,
I HAVE HERE THE STRAW.
DO YOU WANT TO FUCK?
GORE! BLOOD! YEAH!”

A POOL OF BLOOD,
NO BODY ANYMORE.
“IT HAS BEEN A BIG FEED!”