Giving a whole new meaning to "starving artist"

Personal confession: I have a lot of sympathy for writers struggling to make a living from their craft. In fact, I am one - though I, at least, am fortunate enough to be paid for what I do. (Hot pink office optional but highly recommended. See Exhibit A.)



As a writer, I am all too aware of how important it is to get your research right and really immerse yourself in the subject matter at hand (or in this case, foot, torso, liver, et al.) In fact, one could almost say that a good investigative writer should consume all possible information about their topic of choice, should imbibe it, should...you get the picture.

That being said...thanks to Jose Luis Calva of Mexico City for a stunningly delicious WTH moment.

I will try to avoid the "life imitates art / art imitates life" paradoxical debate, preferring instead to ask...what the hella? Hola, Luis, in case you didn't get the memo - subtle, you ain't. Hell, you're not even original. Isn't this what Sharon Stone did in Basic Instinct, only with an ice pick instead of a sautée pan? I mean, even the title of your proposed masterpiece, Cannibalistic Instincts, reeks of ineptitude. (Paging Dean Koontz...) Although I must say, stashing bones in a cereal box is at least inventive. I wonder if they snap, crackle, and pop... But if this was the best he could do, I feel confident that there was not going to be a Pulitzer in his future.

And on a culinary note, from a professed food snob....if you are going to dine on your significant other (giving a whole new meaning to that lovely Biblical phrase "one flesh"), at least do it with some panache. Boiled? Pan fried? Where are the fava beans and a Chianti? Hello, Clarice...what would Hannibal say?



I know exactly what he would say. Chime in with me now.... What the hella?