Richard the turd.

I met him at the local dance. Richard. Whether he told me his surname, I don’t recall. We made a date to go to the pictures the following Saturday. The little girl who lives down the lane was showing. He’d meet me at 2 o’clock, he said, on the wall by the bus stop. And so he did, but with a gang of his friends in tow, all there to jeer and taunt me. Deirdyweirdy, fooled again! But lesson learned. Thenceforth, I’d lurk around the corner, wait until my date had actually shown up, and only then make my entrance.

A childish prank, you might say. We were only thirteen or fourteen, after all. But I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Richard grew up to be a scammer, a taxman, or even a member of parliament. Cads, bounders and scoundrels all.

Despite this traumatic experience and my subsequent misanthropy, I don’t think I could ever eat another person. I mean, have you seen the state of most people these days? Blubbery fat wobbling all over the place, not a muscle in sight. It’d be like chewing tripe. My gorge rises at it. I think I’d rather starve. And starvation is something I’ve mastered after many years of practice. Despite my muscular physique, at five feet one and three-tenths, I weigh in at a mere 46.7 kilos or 102 pounds. The rest of you could do worse than to follow my example.

And if cannibalism truly were the only option? I’d still decline. I believe there’s always another option. I’d wager there’s at least as much nutrition in a fistful of dirt as there is in people who live on pot noodles and  takeaways. And that’s the majority nowadays. And sure isn’t there dirt everywhere.

I rest my case.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Posted in response to galenkp's weekend experience prompt asking ... If you were starving to death, would you turn to cannibalism if it was the only option available or would you prefer to starve to death? and Draw yourself on your first date, share the image and explain how it went and why.