“Welcome, esteemed guests, to our annual New Product Expose. This year is a special one for us because we at headquarters feel that we may be spearheading the most important revolution in meat flavoring since the invention of he cow. I see your faces, and I know. It sounds crazy, maybe a bit delusional, even arrogant. But I assure you, it is true. How you ask? Just hold on to them horses, tighten up them britches, and come take a voyage with me.”
One morning, after my Big Bacon Biscuit Breakfast, I wondered if there were any places on God’s grand Earth that had yet to be touched by the grace of JITB. It made me sad to think that there might actually be some. So I decided to take my team to some of the most uncivilized places on the planet to share with them savages what real culture tastes like.
After focusing in on some probable places inhabited with savage ignorance, we set out in our journey. After weeks of travelling in the Cambodian jungle, we stumbled upon a remote village of kinda brown kinda yellow people who had never even seen a Nuclear Taco or Supernova Steak Fries. Can you believe that!? Well, you better, cause it’s the god-damned truth. Luckily, we brought some along with us.
When we offered our, and hopefully soon-to-be-their, cuisine, they demanded that we follow their savage customs, exchanging their inferior with our superior. I thought it was a God-damned joke! Trying to impress us, the makers of the Nirvana Nachos! Well aren’t I glad I went against my instinct to spit in their face and burn down their damned tree houses. What came next was a revelation. After a couple of bites of some meat-pie dish or other I fell into a mad trance, like I was making love to an angel with really big tits on a rainbow slip-n-slide. I thought that they had drugged me with LSD ecstasy mushrooms or something, like I had read about the shamans and the hippies doing. The trance lasted about 3 minutes and when I woke I was dancing in the middle of a God-damned pagan drum circle. I’m glad that Jesus Christ wasn’t there to see my hysterical behavior. He would have sent me to hell right then and there. But boy did it feel good!
What we soon discovered was that this most extraordinary carnival of carnivorous flavor was based on some time-tested farming practices of this uncultured people. This was some God-damned beautiful voodoo if you ask me. The novel taste of the meat was created by specifically arranged sequences of hormonal and other biochemical excretions into the flesh of the animal, patterns which were activated by intricately choreographed theatrical immersion. Now don’t play me for crazy now till ya hear the whole story. By putting these animals through dramatic situations, some more philosophical than others, these darn people could make those darn animals emotionally complex enough to make their flesh taste different than your average run-of-the-mill butcher’s slab. Boy! I tell ya! Unfold them napkins! Here’s what’s on the menu for tonight.
The meat in this first dish comes from a cow, about six years of age, who had been run through the Princess Mayafatax script. So they dressed her up in lavish robes as a daily ritual starting at about age one. They coddled her, singing ballads of the warrior-princess Mayafatax while combing her hide with a tiger-tooth brush for 6 to 7 hours per day. At which point, they reenacted the storming of the castle walls in her little pen, held her besieged for two and a half months, and then provoked her to trample the attackers to death. Then she was allowed to die of old age. The feeling she had of epic glory and prestige can be tasted on her cooked flesh. It has an oscillating taste of umami and bitter, with the aftertaste of dignified sweetness.
The second dish is made of monkey of the spider variety. To achieve the flavor you will soon experience, the tribesmen put her in a cage with a pack of wolves till she was convinced she was one of them. She even blurted out failed howls and tried to suckle the mother wolf’s titties. After years of such exposure and consequent identifications, they placed her in a room full of mirrored obsidian, now with only members of her own species. I tell you, this really fucked her head up man! She went through a crisis of identity so severe that she committed suicide by chewing through her own breastplate. Suicidal meat has a different taste, one of full on bitterness. But due to the identity crises, the bitterness is interwoven with dissipating harmonies of wolf flavor, a wild unhinged assault of the taste receptors.
I feel that I must mention an important part of the flavoring process. What you have to understand also folks, is that the method of execution can dramatically alter the taste of the animal. Sometimes sneaking up on em from behind allows for the flesh to remain pure from them fear chemicals, giving the flesh a hearty, cool taste. Other methods, such as jocular exhibitions of avowed immanent execution can confuse the animal, giving it a flavorful mixture reminiscent of accelerated protean gustation. And sometimes, for some animals, who have been exposed to certain dramas, eating the flesh while alive can be most fulfilling. One such case I witnessed where a zebra was softly kissed and gently licked until its nervous system was in a state of tantric arousal, at which point the feeder quickly takes a bite from its muzzle, before the panicked violence so typical of this striped equine emerges. It is to my understanding that the taste of animals exposed to this interactive style gives the taste an erotic quality, like oysters dipped in marmalade. This is similar to the practice of gently caressing the animal’s skin with a sharpened blade for hours, and sometimes days, on end, producing a certain contentedness in face of death, a serenity one can taste as well.
On the left here, is the baboon I believe. Yes, that’s right. This one is quite special to me, as I had the pleasure of taking part in the flavoring. With Babbles, ha, I named him that because he made lots of baboon noises with his mouth, we whipped him with banana bark while stroking on his cock and then tricked him into having animal intercourse with his own mother. After exposing our deception to Babbles, we proceeded to laugh at him for days on end, rotating through numerous laughers to ensure the humiliation remained perpetual through the requisite time period. At this point he was hung upside-down by his ankles, and slowly lowered to be drowned in a vat of urine provided by the pregnant women of the tribe. Babbles was quite angry and dejected at the time of expiry, which has produced a taste of such heat and bitterness that it actually becomes sweet. both the preparation and the consumption are quite magical experiences.
Now folks, the lessons that we have learned from these savages have been thoroughly evaluated and analyzed. I feel that we have, as Westerners tend to do with the hocus-pocus of the tribals, perfected this ancient technique of flavoring. We have developed our own laboratories in an undisclosed location, reasons for which should be obvious, where we are testing some of our own methods for gustatory creativity. We have employed many in the arts of literary construction and theatre to help design unique situations to put our animals in. We are even experimenting with virtual reality simulators to help them experience things that would be difficult otherwise. I can’t wait to taste the meat of llama that’s face-fucked a unicorn on the surface of Venus. Or a dolphin that has started a workers’ revolution in Peru! Woo-hee! The sky’s the limit. Actually it aint! We have none. Jack-in-the-Box won’t be stopped!”