The hot sun beat down, making the already intolerable stench even worse. In the far back, carrion birds feasted on the bloated and rotting corps’ of dogs, cats, and the occasional opossum. Thousands of flies joined in the putrid smorgasbord. A bulldozer pushes household garbage into a pit, while another pushes scrap wood and broken down appliances into another. Of course the city dump is not a place someone would normally come to visit for a couple of hours on purpose. But Marvin Ibrom is not quite normal either. Marvin is known to be very eccentric. Though he doesn’t have any actual friends, no one actually ignores him or goes out of their way to be rude. He’s nothing more than that colorful person that every town has. Mr. Ibrom is a collector. About every other day or so he makes a trip out to the dump and gathers up items that everyone else throws away, yet he could still get some use out of them. Two weeks ago he found two broken down desks. Hauling them back to his house he tore them both apart and by combining the pieces together, he made a really awesome computer desk which he sold to a local neighborhood kid for forty dollars. Last month he found an old hutch that was built at the turn of the century. After restoring the piece, he sold it for $3,500. For two hours today he walked all over the dump. At six- seven and one-hundred and seventy-five pounds he still had a spring to his step. Today however he wasn’t having any luck at finding anything. Marvin.. He stopped and looked around but didn’t see anyone close enough that could have called him. Marvin. Once again he stopped. No one else was out tossing anything away and all the workers were off doing their job. “Must be the sun. Maybe I’m getting too old for this.” Marvin. “Where are you?” Over here. Under the garbage bag by the tire. The Cook Book . “I don’t know where you are or who you are but thank you,” he said looking around once again in hopes to spot his benefactor. Look down. Doing so he stared at the cook book. I called you. At that point poor Mr. Ibrom nearly jumped out of his shoes. He realized that the voice was not actually audible but coming from inside his head. “I’m finally loosing it. Too much sun and too many bad fumes out here.” Oh don’t worry Marvin, I assure you you’re perfectly sane. It’s just not every day you run into a talking book. “Ain’t that the truth. Can anyone else here you?” Nope. You’re the only one. So you going to take me home? “You bet,” Marvin said with a smile. The book didn’t say another word until he arrived home. He sat the book down on the kitchen counter. “So what kind of book are you exactly?” As my title indicates, I am a cook book. But not just an ordinary cook book mind you, I contain a rather exotic taste of recipes. Open me up and take a look. Marvin opened the book and could not find any copy write information, no print date or publisher. On the first page was the start of the recipes. South Western Chili 1diced tomato 3 finely crushed garlic pods 1 dried chipotle pepper 1 can of chili beans 1 lb of cubed human flesh. “Ooooh, I see what you mean. I don’t know about this.” What’s wrong? “Well, the human flesh thing. That’s cannibalism.” Oh nonsense. If you really think about it, there is no such thing as cannibalism. What are the classifications of life? “Ummm…plant, animal, mineral, and bacterial, I think.” Close enough. Now what do you fall under? “Animal.” That’s right. Now don’t animals eat each other? “Yeah but…” No buts. Do you think an alligator would hesitate to eat you? And you’re both animals. Animals eat each other everyday. Why should you be any different? Marvin gave this some serious thought. There did seem to be some logic to this idea. We’re all animals and animals eat each other all the time. It’s the natural law of survival. “I guess your right.” There you go. You want to try the chili? “No. Too spicy.” Turn to page 15. I have a wonderful stir fry. He read over the recipe. “Sounds pretty good but where do I get the meat?” There are plenty of bums around. Bastards are sucking off society like a damn leach. Don’t you think it’s time that they pay something back? That evening Marvin drove to the supermarket to pick up a few things. Moving through the produce section he picked out some snow peas, a yellow onion, a bell pepper, broccoli crowns, and some Shitake mushrooms. Last item he got was a bottle of soy sauce and went to check out. Since he took his time shopping it was now fully dark outside. Setting the groceries down on the passengers seat he then patted the razor sharp meat cleaver that lay beside him. He drove to a derelict part of the city that consisted of run down buildings and warehouses. He parked the car next to the entrance of an alley. Folding up a couple of sheets of news paper he slipped them into his pocket along with a plastic bag. Grabbing his meat cleaver he took a stroll down the alley. It was littered with old news papers, broken bottles, cans, boxes and discarded clothing. Animals, living in their own filth. Halfway down the alley he could make out a bum walking back and forth while waving a wine bottle around. The bum saw Mr. Ibrom approaching. “Wha…wha do want? Thish my alley. Buts if you gots a bottle on ya, ya can shtay.” Without a word, Marvin raised the meat cleaver and brought it down fast. It bit into the shoulder and sliced all the way down to the elbow. A long thick strip of meat fell to the ground with a wet smack, leaving bone exposed. At first the bum, his brain saturated with alcohol, didn’t realize what had just happened to him. As he looked at his ruined arm and his on blood plopping on the ground, then the pain exploded in its fiery fullness, instantly washing away all intoxicity. He screamed, grabbed his arm and screamed again. Mr. Ibrom took out the newspaper and rolled up the chunk of flesh and placed it in the plastic bag along with the cleaver. Looking down at the bum who had now slumped down the wall, wailing in agony, Marvin realized something. There were no feelings of remorse. This was actually very easy. Heading back to the car he left the bum back in the alley all alone with his suffering. It was for the best after all. Don’t all those nature programs on T.V. show that an injured animal prefers to be left alone to lick their wounds? And after all, we are all animals. Marvin placed the groceries on the kitchen counter. So how did it go? “It was easy. Not only do I have no regrets about this, I actually feel good.” As well you should. You are an animal. And when have you ever heard of animal’s feeling sorry for its prey? “I never heard of a cat apologize to a mouse before he ate it.” That’s the spirit. Not to mention how much money your going to save from having to buy meat. “You got that right. Damn supermarkets. You virtually have to be rich to by anything other than hamburger or chicken,” he begins to skin and cut up the chunk of the bum’s arm. And now you can have any choice of cut you want. Marvin set the cook book down on the table along with his dinner. Taking a bite he savored the explosion of flavor that filled his mouth. What do you think? “Oh, that’s so good. I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful. Thank you for opening my eyes.” You’re welcome. Now there are a few things you need to know. The ribcage is virtually useless. Not enough meat. However, fingers and toes make an excellent soup stock. And there’s always the classics such as liver. Mr. Ibrom sat there and listened to the cook book deliver it’s dissertation on the intricacies of edible anatomy 101 as he ate his stir fry bum. On the following day Marvin was debating what he would be having for dinner tonight. So Marvin, What is on the menu for tonight? “I was fancying some spaghetti.” Ah, Italian. Good choice. You know you could just bring back enough meat to last you a few days. “An excellent idea. I’ll need to go somewhere and buy a meat grinder then I’ll go to the supermarket and buy the rest of my staples. Then I’ll do my meat shopping.” That afternoon Mr. Ibrom stopped off at a restaurant supply store and bought a meat grinder then went to the supermarket. By the time he got home and put everything away it was time to go get his meat. “Well, I’m off.” Happy hunting. Tonight he decided to prowl the seedier area just outside down town. Driving around he found some really good choice meat but it was too much in the open. Turning onto a deserted street with very little lighting, he passed by a woman pushing a grocery cart stuffed so full of crap that it looked like it would explode. He turned around in the parking lot of a plumbing supply company. Slowly he followed behind until she turned down an alley wide enough to drive through but he stopped and decided to follow on foots as not to spook her. Instead of the meat cleaver, he brought along a carving knife. He stuck the knife in his belt and carried a small ice chest in his left hand. Turning down the alley he saw that the lady was a few yards ahead. Except for three dumpsters, the alley was clear of debris. As Marvin slipped behind a dumpster the lady stopped and looked behind her. Satisfied that she wasn’t being followed she continued on her way. Only when he heard the squeak of one of the wheels did he continue down the alley, closing in fast. When he got in close enough he swung the ice chest, clocking the woman in the back of the head. She staggered away from the cart; though she was knocked senseless it wasn’t enough to put her unconscious. A clip to the chin with a right fist finished the job. Searching through the cart he found some rags. Taking the rags he used them to bind her ankles, her hands behind her back and gagged her. Next he cut away her pants. Bending her knees he knelt down on her feet. Placing the knife behind the knee, he made his first cut to start removing the calf. As he started slice it away from the bone, the woman woke up with a muffling scream. He made quick work of the calf and placed it in the ice chest and started to work on the second calf muscle. “These will make an excellent roast. I’m going to let them soak in port wine over night.” Halfway through the second calf the woman passed out. After he finished the second calf, Marvin set to de-bone the upper leg. She regained consciousness as he made the first cut, but due to loss of blood she only had enough strength to moan. “This area will make some great steaks. I’m going to try one on the grill,” he said so nonchalant as if he was speaking to the counter person in a meat market. Slicing into an artery inadvertently ended her suffering. “Oh damn. Now I can’t harvest the heart or liver since the book says that it is best to take them while the food is still alive. Oh well, there’s always another night.” Adding the meat from both legs to the chest filled it. When he arrived home he asked the cook book if it had a really good recipe for a slow roast. What cook book would be worth its pages if it didn’t? Turn to page 116. On the following afternoon, Marvin was working in his front yard when his next door neighbor came out. “Hey Marvin. How you doing?” “Very well. And you?” “Great. I just returned from doing some shopping and couldn’t help but notice that your cooking something that really smells good.” “Yeah, I’m trying out this new recipe for a roast. When it’s finished I’ll bring some over for you and your wife to try.” “Thanks. We would appreciate it.” “Not a problem.” Later that evening he made two plates and took them next door. When he rang the doorbell Max answered the door. “Come in, Marvin, come right in. Betty’s in the kitchen.” Marvin followed Max into the kitchen. “I brought over some of my roast for you to try.” “Lovely, that’s very nice of you Marvin. Max told me he smelt something really good coming from your kitchen.” They removed the foil from their plates. “This really does look good,” said Max. Betty took a bite. “Oh my God, this is delicious.” “It is. It’s really good. So tender. I can’t place the meat. What is it?” asked Max. “Ham string,” answered Marvin. “Roasted pork, a delight. You know Marvin, I heard that channel five is having a cooking contest on that morning show they have. What’s it called? Oh yeah, Good Day. You should enter.” “I don’t know Betty, I don’t think that I’m that good.” “Yes you are, and she is right. You should enter. The grand prize is a kitchen makeover.” “Hmmmm, you really think that I would have a shot at this?” “I know you do,” said Betty. “Then I’ll do it.” The next day Marvin went to the channel five T.V. station and registered for the cooking contest that was to take place the day after tomorrow. The show was only an hour; long all main dishes would be required to be cooked at home and be warmed up at the station. The rest of the side dishes could be prepared at the station. Now all he had to do is come up with a great recipe. And he knew exactly where to get one. As soon as he arrived home he consulted the cook book. “Hey cook book.” Yes, Marvin? “I entered a cooking contest on T.V. and I need a really good recipe. Something different, very unique. The grand prize is going to be a complete kitchen makeover.” I have just the thing for you on page 231. Marvin opened the book and read the recipe. “Yes. This will do very nicely,” he said with a great big smile. It was the day of the contest and Marvin was really excited. There were three contestants joining him in the expanded studio kitchen. Everyone had their on stove and oven. All the main dishes were warming and the contestants were preparing the side dishes. With fifteen minutes left in the show it was time for the contestants to present their dishes. The first contestant presented her chicken casserole. Next a man showed his baked swordfish with lemongrass potatoes. Another woman showed off her basil fired chicken breast. Finally the camera moved in on Marvin. The host of the show moved beside him. “Here we have Marvin Ibrom. What will you be presenting today for us, Marvin?” “It’s called Cabeza de Oro.” He carefully pulled back the aluminum foil the camera panned in for a close up. Inside the deep roast pan sat two fully cooked human heads basted in a honey sauce. Jessie is a stay at home dad of two goblins. One boy goblin 6 years old and his little sister goblin 5 years old. When not cleaning up the dark damp cave and disposing of what ever remains that are left over from whoever the little goblins chose to eat at meal times, he sits and drudges over his writing.

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