Cruelty: Cooked Alive

From an333569@anon.penet.fi

1 Dec 1995

Ever think "I'd like to cook him alive." What a way to go (BTW the NE American Indians used to roast people alive as a torture). But how to drag it out without actually snuffing the meal immediately. Several solutions follow:

"So, you hungry?"

Meal licks his parched lips, bleeding from a round of 'meat tenderizing' with paddles and clubs. "Y-y-yes.... water."

"No, no water. Let's cook. Boys carry him to the pit!"

Ahhh, the BBQ pit! Built of black obsidian. The fire pit is glowing red with coals. Above it, the baking pit, encased in stones smokes with readiness.

"See, my tasty treat, your leg is going in the baking pit! Your screams will entertain us as we eat our appitizers!" The boys are already preparing by binding the meal's legs so one sticks out and the other is bent (painfully) back. Bubba, the fellow with the jagged teeth, piss stained polyester pants, and drooling, picks up a rusty hatchet. He looks like an ape, unsure what to do, then his eyes gleam! He swings and swings, trying to liberate the fingers from the meal. But Bubba is kinda far sighted and, well, braindamaged, and the blade has seen its better days, so the fingers are mostely pounded away from the hands and require some scraping with the edge.

We spear the fingers like hot dogs and roast them, while Doc with shaky hands administers morphine and adrenaline to the meal, and what the hell, a few of the boys too! The meal revives from his faint, groaning in pain and horror, just as his leg goes in the baking hole. More pain! Terrible heat! Eyes stinging as Bubba lets loose a load of cum from his tiny cheesy prick.

But will the meal die? OH no! Not yet! his leg is tournequetted to prevent the cooking blood from causing damage in the uncooked parts. The meal lays, well really wriths, on hot but not cooking stone. We often soak him with water to keep the body temp. down. And to keep him conscious. Now a peice of meat as large as a leg takes some hours to roast, so we have another round of shots from Doc to keep the meal conscious and us half conscious. How can anyone feel pain and horror when knocked out?

Our meal kicks and screams away the minutes. Hmmm the smell of a home cooked meal! Look at it bubble up! Of course, with all the blood trapped in the leg, it'll soon expl... well there it goes now! A pop and burst of steam and blood! Congealed blood oozes out like a pimple. Look at it sizzle. Most of the flesh is now cooked and dead, but the pain isn't over! No, no, no! The blonde is still alive and cooking. We know that our meal is ready when we hear a load crack and insane shreiks of pain when the bonecracks from the heat!

"Come on, boys! Set the table!

"Come on now, wake up! wake up! Doc, quit poking splinters in that jew and help me out! Stupid old coot still thinks he's running a camp. No, don't try to sit up (or jump rope or bycycle, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA). Those straps will hold you tight to the dinner table.

"Bubba, come on over and carve us off a few slices!"

Mmmmmm, nothing like a hot meal! Want some? No? Is that what you are trying to tell me with all of that screaming? Are you sure? You make a fine roast, you know. Well, look here! It's fido your poodle! I forgot to feed her! Well, 'round here, we don't set much on fancy manner. Bubba, get your cock out of that dog and put her on the table."

"well looks like fido thinks you're pretty tasteless. What a bitch!"

More wine! More flesh!