It's not for me. I tried human flesh and it's too salty for my taste.
Breakfast today, horse sausage. Lunch, minced mule and curried locust. All well.
And you stagger down to break your fast. Greasy bacon and lacquered eggs And coffee composed of frigid dregs.
Consider the challenge when a steady diet of spinach is on offer.
I'd rather eat a cow-pat on a bun than a bloody McDonalds.
Banquet: a plate of cold, hairy chicken and artificially coloured green peas completely surrounded by dreary speeches and appeals for donations.
You can't really indulge in anything when you're wearing a unitard. No bread, no beer, no anything delicious.
My father belonged to a commune, and the food was ghastly. My idea of food hell is the salad cream they'd pour all over bits of lettuce, cucumber and tomato. It was just disgusting.
Processed pig is white trash meat. Some people call it Spam.
The worst thing for me is to not taste what I'm eating, to not know what I'm eating. It upsets me to no avail.
