Sunday, November 28, 2004

Chapter 10 part 5

Word count: 500
Total: 21,534
Ok, so I failed. Big deal. I think this story kicks ass anyway, and I still plan on finishing it. Just maybe not at such a rapid pace.

The riot was put down. The rioters were beaten severally. Many were shot. Many were dead, or disfigured. Imp and Skip returned to the locker room while the other members of the riot squad cleaned up.

"I can't believe I just shot that guy in the face." Skip said.

"I'm proud of you. You're really making progress." Imp replied.

"Is that what you call it? I call it losing all sense of morality." Skip said.

"What you need to learn, Skip, is that there is no such thing as morality. Morality is only created by judgment. No one is judging you Skip, so nothing you do is either right or wrong. Now shut up, and let's go back to the hotel and party with some bitches." Imp said.

They both changed out of their riot gear. Imp once again donned his Moses robe, and gave Skip a suit to put on, so he would look presentable for the coming festivities.

As they left the stadium Skip said, "Aren't we going to pick up our prize money?"

"I'm the embodiment of God. I don't need money." Imp replied.

"Yeah, well I'm not, and I'm the one who ate all the cow brains." Skip protested.

"What would you do with the money Skip? What good is it going to do you after the apocalypse?" Imp said as he opened the door to the black Ford Falcon.

It was approaching 10:00 pm by the time they got back to the hotel. When they got to the room there was a cadre of scantily clad women and a veritable smorgasbord of delectable delicacies. There were exotic fruits, spiced meats, and a selection of rare cheeses.

"What is this a rap video?" Skip said as they walked in the room.

"No." Imp said. "If it were a rap video, there would be a hot tub in here."

"Right." Skip said.

"Lets party!" Imp said and sat down on a couch next to an Asian woman wearing a black leather mini skirt and a red bikini top. "Suck it bitch" He said, and shoved her head down into his lap.

"You're such a romantic." Skip said.

"Skip, I'm in the middle of something right now, and it's a little gay for me to be talking to you, so why don't you go find your own whore." Imp said.

Skip looked around the room, and decided to check out the buffet. Looking at the food reminded him of the cow brains, and although they were delicious at the time, the thought of them now made his stomach turn. In fact the site of meat made him quite nauseous. He decided to go to bed, rather than fuck one of the hookers.

He went into a bedroom area, lay down on the plush hotel bed, and fell into a sound sleep. There were no strange dreams or nightmares to rob him of his rest. It was a deep sleep, so peaceful that he didn't even hear the screams.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Chapter 10 part 4

Word count: 807
Total: 21,034
Wow this chapter is getting long, and I'm still not done with it.

Skip ate like a madman. He paid no attention to the slobbering lunatics on either side of him. He didn't notice voracious consumption of cow brains, or the roar of the crowd, or the drool that was flying everywhere. He also didn't realize that he was winning.

Instead of getting full, he was growing more famished. Each cow brain he ate just made him want to eat two more. The other trainers were prodding and whipping their athletes, livid with the prospect of an unknown winning their coveted prize.

An air horn rang out, and everyone stopped eating. Skip came out of his brain eating frenzy, and looked around. A judge approached him and raised his hand in victory. Confetti dropped from the light rigging above the stage, and the crowd roared with applause.

The trainers threw down their whips and their cattle prods in frustration. The retards got angry at the site of Skip winning. They had been whipped and beaten worse than normal, and their jealously combined with their anger at their coaches to create a deadly cocktail of blind retarded rage. The competitor sitting next to Skip, a large man with Down syndrome, got up and wiped the drool and gray matter from his chin.

He shoved Skip back and said, "That's not fair! You cheated!"

The competitor on the other side of Skip stood up and said, "Yeah, not fair!"

The other retards started yelling, and security guards came up on the stage to calm the situation. Someone at the opposite end of the table lobbed a half eaten cow brain through the air in Skip's general direction. The brain missed Skip and struck the angry man with Down syndrome in the back of the head.

The angry retard grabbed a brain out of his bowl and threw it back to the other end of the table. Pandemonium broke out, as cow brains started flying back and forth on the stage. The security guards tried in to settle the angry mob of mental misfits, but it was in vain. The coaches had fled the stage, and without them there was no calming their athletes.

Skip managed to get off of the stage before he was dismembered. He and Imp made their way back to the locker room as the chaos continued.

"Nice eaten Tex." Imp said when they were safe within the confines of the locker room.

"I never knew cow brain could be so delicious. I'm guessing you had something to do with that." Skip said.

"You're guessing right. Now that we've beaten them at their own game, let's go squelch the riot." Imp said.

"How are we going to do that?" Skip asked.

"With this." Imp opened one of the lockers to reveal a set of riot gear.

"You've got to be kidding." Skip said.

"Really Skip? Do I ever really kid?" Imp replied, and started handing Skip pieces of riot gear.

Skip sighed, and put the gear on. Imp changed out of his Moses robe, and into the riot gear as well. Imp handed Skip a club and a shotgun, and they were ready to go.

When they came back to the inside of the stadium, they saw that food fight had deteriorated into a real full-blown riot. People from the audience had jumped onto the field to join in the fight. The security guards were lying unconscious, or dead. A few of the coaches had come back out attempting to rescue their investments, but they too were now lying unconscious, or dead.

"Looks like we're going to need back up." Imp said.

From the door they just walked through more men clad in riot gear came. They formed a line behind Skip and Imp. Imp stepped out a few paces and turned to face the men.

"Men" he said, "A day may come when society allows retards to riot in the streets! A day may come when political correctness will prevent decent men from stomping out the uprising of a mob of angry halfwits! But it is not this day! This day we fight!"

The men shouted their approval. Imp turned back toward the rioting retards, and charged. Skip ran along with him, without giving any thought to what they were about to do. The riot troopers charged behind them with their clubs raised in the air.

They charged up to the stage, and began clubbing anything that moved. Skip saw the man who had shoved him earlier running toward him. Skip didn't even hesitate to crack the man square between the eyes with his club. The man stumbled back and started to move forward again. Skip raised his shotgun and fired. He hit the man in the face, and his brains splattered all over the table.

"I wonder if those would taste like pizza too?" Skip asked himself.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Chapter 10 part 3

Word count: 616
Total: 20,227
There's still more of this chapter on the way.

There were no more entertaining incidents while Skip and Imp waited for the contest to begin. The locker room was disturbing, as one might imagine a locker room full of retards would be, but there was no more excitement. While they were waiting Skip decided to talk to one of the "trainers."

"So, how do you really train these people?" Skip asked as the man was walking away from a pep talk with his athlete.

"Well there are two schools of thought, when it comes to training a tard for competitive eating." The man must have thought Skip was a reporter. "The first school says to use psychological trickery to make them think they like eating cow brains, to make them think it's some kind of treat. Then there's the second school of though, which is the method I prefer, and that is to starve the tard for about 36 hours before the contest."

"You don't let them eat?" Skip asked.

"Well, you give them sugar water, and vitamins, and maybe a slice of bread or two, but that's about it." The man replied.

"Why 36 hours? Why not longer?" Skip asked.

"Well, if you starve them too long, then their stomach starts to shrink. When the contest comes, they'll eat one cow brain and be full. You might be able to use a cattle prod or a whip or something to coax them into eating a second or maybe even a third, but you'll never get them to stuff down enough to win." The man seemed as though he had explained his techniques many times in the past.

A man carrying a clipboard and wearing a black polo shirt with the word "Staff" in yellow letters on the back interrupted the conversation to announce that the contest was about to begin. Skip was then herded out of the locker room with all the other mental degenerates. They were led out to a stage in the middle of the stadium.

Skip was surprised to see the stadium was full of people. It looked more like the Super Bowl than the Glutton Bowl, let alone the "special needs" Glutton Bowl. The fans cheered as each contestant was introduced.

The introductions were all very similar, "And now, hailing from Portland Oregon, weighing in at 325 pounds, The Down Syndrome Destroyer, The Tard Terror, Daaaaaaaniel Muckhouuuuuuuser!" Skip was introduced as "Skip, Stupid Moron, Harding." He was not amused.

The contestants were each given a seat in front of a large bowl full of raw cow brains, at a long row of tables. Skip looked at his bowl with a sour look on his face.

"I'm hungry, but I'm not eating this." He turned to Imp.

I'm stuck an electric cattle prod in his side and gave him a shock. "Don't talk back tard."

"What the fuck?" Skip protested.

Imp shocked him again. "This is great. I should find a real retard and do this for a living."

"You're sick, you know that?" Skip said, turning back to his dish.

A count down started, and the contest was underway. Skip took a reluctant bite out of his first cow brain, and was surprised.

"This tastes like pizza!" Skip exclaimed. "It's cow brain, and it's got the texture of cow brain, but it tastes like pizza! And damn good pizza at that!"

"What, did you think I came here to lose to a bunch of retards?" Imp said. "Now shut up and eat."

Now that they tasted like scrumptious round pizzas it was easy to forget that he was eating cow brains. His ravenous hunger came back to the forefront of his thought, and he dug into the brains with fervor.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Chapter 10 part 2

Word count: 598
Total: 19,611
It's my week off, and I have a head cold. I feel like shit, so I'm not getting much done. I'm really starting to doubt that I will reach 50,000 words in the next 7 days. But we'll see.

The hotel was only a few blocks down the road. They checked in, but didn't bother to go up to their room. Instead they went back to the car and headed to the restaurant. At least Skip thought they were going to a restaurant. In fact they were heading to an event. Skip knew he was in for some new form of madness when they pulled into a crowded stadium parking lot. A giant banner hanging above the stadium entrance read "Special Needs Glutton Bowl."

"What the fuck is this?" Skip asked, as they from the car toward the entrance.

"It's a good old fashioned eating contest." Imp replied. "What's the matter, I thought you were hungry?"

"Yeah, but why would that make me want to watch other people eat? And why does it say 'special needs' glutton bowl?" Skip asked.

"You aren't going to watch other people eat, I've entered you in the contest. And special needs means retards. It's a retard eating contest." Imp said.

"You've entered me in an eating contest against a bunch of retards? Don't you think someone will notice that I'm not retarded?" Skip protested.

"Don't flatter yourself." Imp replied. "Just go along with it, no one will question you. Trust me."

"Is there really any trust involved when I don't have a choice?" Skip asked.

"You're right." Imp said. "And since you don't have a choice, why don't you quit bitching about it. Look on the bright side, you'll get all the cow brains you can eat at no charge."

"They're eating cow brains? That's just wrong. Feeding cow brains to retards and calling it entertainment, that's just wrong." Skip said.

"Hey now, they prefer to be called mentally challenged. And just because they're a bunch of retards doesn't mean they don't have the same right to compete in a cow brain eating contest that you do." Imp said.

"Yeah, but if they're retarded, then they don't understand what they're doing, and the people running this show are just exploiting them." Skip said.

"So what? That's the nature of entertainment. Entertainers are all mentally ill. You have to be mentally ill to need that much attention. And just because they don't understand it doesn't mean they don't have the right to do it. I mean they let them vote for fucks sake, why shouldn't they have the right to be exploited like every other entertainment." Imp said.

"Oh Christ there's no sense arguing with you. Lets just get this over with." Skip said.

They arrived at the front of the stadium and followed a sign that directed them to the participant entrance. After traversing a backstage area they found the contestant sign in area. The lady sitting at the sign in table flipped through a magazine as Skip signed in.

Without even looking up she pointed to her left and said, "Down the hall, second door on the right."

Down the hall, behind the second door on the left there was a locker room. In the locker room there were scores of people bustling about as if it were a real sporting event. Only the "athletes" in this case were all drooling and cross eyed.

The door to the locker room office opened, and out stormed an attractive woman wearing a tight red dress. Behind her a naked man with down syndrome stepped out of the door.

"Fine bitch!" He yelled at her with a slur, while holding an enormous erection in his right hand. "I will suck my OWN cock!" He went back into the office and slammed the door.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Chapter 10 High Tide part 1

Word count: 936
Total: 19,013

Several blocks away from the mutant feline madness they came to a stoplight. As they were waiting for the light to turn green, another car pulled up beside them. It was a lowered 94 Ford Escort, with hydraulics in the front, and rims that kept spinning when it stopped. Behind the wheel of this car was a pale white teenage boy, who wore a baseball hat backwards. The boy was listening to a ubiquitous pop song, and he obviously had an expensive sound system, because everyone else at the traffic light could feel the thumping bass.

"Get a load of this fool." Imp said. "He thinks he's a real gangster, with that car. Doesn't he know that gangsters don't listen to Avril Lavigne?"

The boy was head banging, making the hand sign for the devil, and sticking his tongue out at Imp.

"I'll show this idiot what a real stereo sounds like." Imp said, and pressed a button on the radio.

Two stabilizing legs extended from each side of the Falcon, and pressed firmly on the ground. Next the trunk opened, only it opened backward from the way a normal trunk opens. Out of the trunk two large cylindrical speakers extended, pointing in the direction of the Escort. The speakers settled on the roof of the car, and were secured in place by two metal hooks, which extended from the hood.

Imp pulled a CD out from a holder on the sun visor and put it in the player. He then picked up the CB. His words boomed as loud as a demon with his balls caught in a door. "And now here's Aenema, by Tool. This one's going out to the douche bag in the Ford Escort. We all know your dad paid for that car douche bag."

The kid had a look of utter disbelief on his face. Imp pressed play, and the song began to reverberate through the streets. The black Falcon shook, staying it place only because of the stabilizers. The Escort slid sideways until it collided with another car. Its windows shattered, and with every beat it slid further away, along with the car it was now pressed up against. The song finished playing, the speakers retracted, and the Falcon returned to normal. Imp then ran the red light and sped off down the street.

The drove through down town, and stopped at a marina parking lot. When Imp got out of the car his black secret service outfit turned into an off white robe. His hair grew past his shoulders, and his shiny black shoes turned into earth tone sandals.

"We need to see a man about a boat." Imp said.

"Ok, Noah" Skip said.

They walked down the sidewalk and went through a glass door upon which the words "Maritime Nautical and Arc Construction" were etched. Inside there was a front office with a counter and a small waiting area. It looked like a doctors office, with calming neutral tones, and bland saxophone music playing in the background.

Imp walked up to the counter and rang the little stainless steel bell. A door opened behind the counter, and a prudish woman came out. She wore a fifties style flower dress with long sleeves, and a pair of ugly brown eye glasses with a small chain extending from the ear pieces.

"Can I help you?" She said in a high pitched nasally voice.

"Yes, I would like to commission an arc." Imp now sounded suspiciously like Charlton Heston.

"Fill out this form." The lady handed him a clipboard, and went back through the door.

Imp rang the bell again. The lady returned with a sour look on her face.

"Yes?" She said.

Imp handed the clipboard back to her.

"Sir, if you want to commission an arc, you have to fill out this form." She snarled.

"I did, why don't you look at it." Imp said.

The lady glanced at the clipboard with a sigh, and her look of annoyance turned to one of confusion.

"One moment." She said, and took the paperwork with her back through the door.

Several minutes later she returned with more paperwork.

"Your project will cost an estimated 6 billion dollars." She said. "We require an initial 10 percent down payment to begin construction. How will you be paying today?"

"Do you accept Paypal?" Imp said.

The lady just stared at him.

"Fine, I'll put it on my American Express God card. I don't leave heaven without it." Imp said.

He opened a pouch that was hanging from his robe and took out a glowing golden credit card. The face of the card was adorned with the American Express logo in the corner, and a picture of an old man with a flowing white beard in the center.

The lady swiped the card, and then handed Imp a receipt to sign. He signed it, and she handed him his card back.

"That's going to take about 3 days. We'll call you at the phone number you listed on the form when it's ready." The lady said and walked back through the door.

"What phone number did you give her? Do you already have a house in a city you just created not 2 hours ago?" Skip asked.

"No, I wouldn't want to own land in this dumpy city. We've got a suite reserved at the nicest hotel in town instead. Let's go check in, and then we'll get something to eat." Imp said.

"I didn't know you ate." Skip replied.

"Well, I don't have to, but there's this place I want to go..." Imp said.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Chapter 9 part 2

Word Count: 1042
Total: 18,077
There's more to come today. My vacation has begun.

A good percentage of Misses Crablebottom was carved up when several police cars pulled up outside the front of the house. She had long since passed out, but her initial screams, coupled with the headless cab driver in the driveway, had prompted the neighbors to call the authorities.

"Come out with your hands up!" a voice rang out from a megaphone.

"I thought they only said that in movies." Imp said.

He then pulled a 357 magnum out of his suit, and smashed a window.

He stuck his head out the window to yell, "You'll never take me alive copper!"

Imp let off a few shots out the window, and then ducked to wait for return fire. Skip was also on the ground now, hoping to avoid being shot. The return fire did not come.

"What the fuck are they waiting for? I want some gunplay." Imp said.

"Isn't it enough that you just carved up an innocent lady and fed her to her cats?" Skip replied.

"Hey, it's the best meal those cats have ever had. They look healthier already. Besides, that lady was a worthless sack of shit. She's better off dead." Imp said, and let off a couple more rounds out the window.

A few moments later the voice on the megaphone cracked on "Hold your fire, we want to send in someone to negotiate."

"Negotiate?" Imp said. "Are these some kind of pussy cops? I thought they only negotiated before you fire shots at them."

Imp stood up, picked up the last plate of Crablebottom cat food, and walked to the door.

"This ought to make things interesting for the boys in blue out there." He said, and opened the door to toss the plate out on the lawn.

Imp then held the door open for a flood of cats to rush out toward the plate. The negotiator approaching the house found himself between the cats and the plate of food. He turned to run, but they were already under his feet. He stumbled, and 5 cats leapt on his back. He tripped again and fell to the ground.

While the other officers stood dumbfounded by the site of their negotiator being mauled by a pack of domestic house cats, Imp led Skip to the garage. The car housed there was the furthest from what Skip would have expected to find in the garage of a crazy lady who owned 101 cats. It was a black 1973 Ford Falcon, with the engine sticking out of the hood, and two machine guns mounted on the back. The front end was reinforced with thick black steel bars. It was straight out of Mad Max.

"Why would that lady have THIS car?" Skip asked.

"Well, she was crazy." Imp said, and hopped in the driver's seat. "Hop in, lets take this baby for a spin."

"I don't know if you noticed, but the city's entire police force is out there. By now they've probably called in the national guard." Skip replied.

"That's what the machine guns are for." Imp said, and started the car.

Skip resigned, and sat down in the passenger's seat. The inside of the car was modernized. It had an electronic dash, and a monitor with cross hairs in the center. Imp pressed a button, and a joystick popped out from the glove box.

"So I guess I'm supposed to control the guns?" Skip said.

"Boy, you're quick." Imp replied, and slammed his foot down on the gas petal.

The tires squealed, and the car turned the garage door to splinters. It sped out and veered hard to the left. They skimmed by the cab, and crashed head on into the fronts of two patrol cars. The Falcon had no trouble pushing the patrol cars out of the way with its reinforced front end, and supercharged V-8 engine.

The car careened through a hail of bullets and onto the street. Imp swerved back and forth through the light suburban traffic, as a swarm of police cruisers followed in hot pursuit.

"Don't just sit there! You're the gunner dammit, gun!" Imp yelled.

Skip took hold of the joystick, and maneuvered the crosshairs around the monitor. He aimed at the nearest police cruiser and pulled the trigger. Shots rang out from behind them. Skip watched the on the monitor as the guns shredded the front end of the cruiser. A bullet struck the engine block, and big plumes of smoke billowed from under the hood.

The chase continued, and soon they were leaving the suburbs and approaching heavy city traffic. Imp swerved around a corner and onto a main street. They drove forward 2 blocks, and found themselves stuck at a traffic light. Black smoke rose up from the tires as Imp slammed on the breaks and spun the car back in the opposite direction.

The police came screaming around the corner to block their escape. A wall of flashing lights and sirens now stood between the black Ford Falcon and a clean getaway. Imp revved the engine.

"Now what?" Skip asked.

"Just wait a minute. They should be catching up." Imp replied.

"They? What are they?" Skip asked.

"They are a little surprise for the keystone cops out there." Imp said.

Several more police vehicles arrived, along with the swat team, and a helicopter. A man wearing a bulletproof vest and a helmet stepped forward with a megaphone.

"Step out of the car, and put your hands on top of your head!" The man yelled over the megaphone.

"Here kitty kitty kitty..." Imp said.

As soon as the words left his mouth, a giant house cat came running from the side street and bit the officer in half. The big cat held the top half of the man's torso and began pulling out his innards with its teeth. All of a sudden there were a dozen more giant house cats, rampaging through the streets, and eating the unsuspecting pedestrians.

The police completely forgot about the black Ford Falcon with the machine gun turrets mounted on the back. They were now preoccupied with a heard of hungry house cats the size of grizzly bears. The traffic jam cleared up, and Imp drove away with the rest of the afternoon commuters.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Chapter 9 Lives

Word count: 906
Total: 17,035

"It's about time this dump was modernized. Let's go check out the new city. There's someone here I'd like you to meet." Imp said, and walked down the cobble stone path toward the street. Skip followed.

They reached the street, which was already busy with traffic, and Imp flagged a cab. They both got in and Imp gave the driver an address. The cab navigated through city until they reached the suburbs. He then pulled into the driveway of a cookie cutter house at the end of a culdesac.

They got out of the cab and the driver stuck his head out the window to say, "Hold on a minute, that's going to be 23 dollars."

"Oh yea?" Imp said.

Before the cabbie could say anything else a large blade fell from the sky and sliced off his head. Skip didn't even flinch. He didn't bother to comment, or question. He just continued following Imp to the front door.

The exterior of the house was painted a bright purple that clashed with all the neighboring houses. It was a basic, single story, ranch style house, with an unkempt yard.

"You're going to love this." Imp said as he rang the doorbell.

An older lady with disheveled white hair opened the door and pressed her face to the screen. "Whadaya want?" She said.

"Good afternoon Mam, my name is Rick Boswell, and this is my partner Skip Harding. We're with the department of health. Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes? We have some matters we need to discuss with you." Imp said.

"The heath department!" The old lady crowned. "What do you want with me?"

"Well Mam, we've had some reports from you neighbors that there might be some health code violations taking place at this residence, and we'd just like to clear that up." Imp said.

"I don't want anything, leave me alone!" The lady yelled, and slammed the door shut.

"You believe this fucking bitch? I'm a God Damn duly authorized city official here!" Imp said.

"Well, you don't look much like any city official I've ever seen." Skip said.

"Your right." Imp said, and he morphed into the form of a large man wearing a black suit, with secret service style sunglasses.

"There you go." Skip said.

Imp knocked on the door again. There was no answer. "I'm gonna teach this crazy bitch a lesson." He said.

With a swift kick Imp knocked the door open and stormed inside. The lady started screaming like a banshee, and leapt from her hideous brown couch to lunge at Imp with a knitting needle. Imp brushed off her attack with ease and threw her to the floor. He then grabbed a phone cord, and started wrapping it around her ankles.

He then tied her hands behind her back, picked her up, and tossed her back on the couch. Skip covered his ears to deaden the lengthy string of obscenities that flowed from her mouth as this was happening. Imp left the room, and returned with a sock to stuff in her mouth.

Skip was alarmed, not by the harsh treatment of an elderly lady, but by the number of cats that were roaming the living room. The number was growing by the second as well. They were rubbing up against his leg, and letting out sad little cries.

"Now Misses Crablebottom, if you have a minute, I'd like to talk to you about the complaints we received." Imp said. "Apparently the ungodly stench of all these cats shitting all over your house has reached your neighbor's noses."

Misses Crablebottom squirmed on the couch like a worm. She was still trying to scream through the sock in mouth, but she was clearly beginning to tire.

"What you don't realize Misses Crablebottom," Imp continued, "is that you, and all those like you, have been providing material for stand up comedians for years. And I'd just like to know...why? I mean what sort of short circuit do you have in your brain that prevents you from realizing what a disgusting nasty skank you've become?

How many cats did you get before you finally decided it was 'OK' for them to shit all over the living room floor? How many more do you think you would have acquired before you realized that your welfare check wasn't enough to feed them?"

Misses Crablebottom had quit struggling, and was now laying limp with tears in her eyes, struggling to breath. Imp ignored her whimpering.

"Well Misses Crablebottom, your neighbors are sick of the stench, and they are sick of the pitiful cries of starving cats. So I think it's time to give the kitties something to eat."

Imp walked away into the kitchen. He returned with a stack of plates, a pair of tongs, and an electric turkey carver. He set the plates down on a coffee table, and plugged the turkey carver into a socket behind the couch.

"It's Thanksgiving bitch!" He yelled.

He turned the carver on, and Misses Crablebottom started struggling again. He paid no attention to her resistance, and began carving chunks of flesh from her thigh. He used the tongs in one hand to pull the chunks loose and put them on a plate. When the plate was full he would place it on the floor, where the cats would attack it. He would then start filling the next plate in the stack.