Gore with Flowers

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Would you like a sweet bowl of Caesar salad with your murder?

I mean, your filet mignon, ma'am

What the hell are you looking at, Little Missus Banker's Wife?

I'm just saying you should at least have flowers to commemorate the death of that cow

 

Like, about a year or so ago, that brownish-red thing occupying your ceramic dish

Once occupied a small stall filled to the brim with feces and stale hay

That thing was a living, breathing, loving, bleeding, crying sentient being

And your response? Cutting it into wee bloody pieces to shove in your jowls

 

After years and years of artificial insemination, producing a calf that is taken,

THEN being harvested cruelly of its milk, that cow was finally deeming animalia non grata

She was carted away in a filthy trailer down a godforsaken interstate

Like Dachau, the factory farm belches smoke and the lives of the meek

 

That cow probably had her mangy throat slit whilst still breathing the airs of life

And you're as wretched, as evil, as destructive as the men in the factory that were responsible!

Why? Because this goddamn menu below your chin lists all kinds of meatless meals

And greedily, you chose to eat the flesh of a murdered angel

 

And I hope those jeans you slip into tomorrow DO make you look fat as a result of your consumption.

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