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Should I Marry a Cannibal Things would be alright for a while provided I kept him well-fed. Bodies dredged in seasoned breadcrumbs, deviled shells of persons past, lifted from the city morgue or local cemetery then chopped and carried home in zip-lock bags. All the filets and John Doe casseroles, but what, I ask you, what of all those bones? And should I tire of the shenanigans, the schlep and preparation of such flesh, would he be forced to then divorce himself from vows? Sow-tie me up and slit my gut to stuff with peanuts, spit and roast me like a golden locust, lovely thought, imagining that crunch.
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