Processing People For Food

You knew it was going to come down to this. Processing People you knew for food to feed your needs. Children you knew, mixed with your parents. Here where bacon and beef go to those politicians whom claim that you put them in office. Northern missionaries, that work tirelessly to feed those southern lofty mouths. Wet microbursts of moisture, dehydrated flesh flash frozen, for other's there is yogurt, though without milk there remains a certain question? Pretty girls grown dumb, have procreated to feed you. You will eat the smart ones, without question the need to live outweighs those moral questions, unpronounceable lost in time some few short decades past. We pay homage to those same corrupt politicians who we now pay, to watch them eat what others never will. Paying to watch them eat a bacon, lettuce and tomatoe sandwich with large dollups of mayonnaise. Living each day, from dawn to dusk, giving no thought as to how you came to be on the menu, the preceding day. Don't fall in love with me, I might not be able to satisfy your few basic needs. I can sense that certain fatal attraction.