There were half eaten boxes of cereal. A

There were half eaten boxes of cereal. A Manhattan skyline of the new generic organic cereals that'd cropped up since Trader Joe's. She never finished a box, just bought another

and tried once again in vain to enjoy SOME kind of Kashi cereal. She considered tossing them, but the sight of all those all natural boxes gave her street cred with vegan hipsters

who were the key to her run for PETA President. Oh how she longed for the shards of flesh hanging from the roof of her mouth after a bowl of Cap'n Crunch. Oh, and fatty bacon and

the crunchy crackling on the edge of a succulent pork loin, or the simple pleasure of a month aged ribeye gently rubbed with seasoning before being quickly seared and served blue.

His love for meat knew no bounds. While some people would have wine cellars, he had a storage locker stocked with sides of beef. Late at night, he would open the pad lock and

select a nice tender piece, then take it out to his garden where he would practice his basting. He didn't care if he was seen by the neighbours, he just wanted to become a master

baster. Unbeknownst to him, however, his neighbors Thomas and Sherri had already mastered the art of basting, and in fact competed nationally at the Annual Master Basting Open.

The Annual Master Basting Open looked as if the seven deadly sins had been unleashed but only gluttony had decided to show up. Thomas and Sherri

were groaning and wallowing in a vat of lard while JeanPaul and Chelsea slowly rubbed marinade into each other's

kimchi, the Korean salad that tastes better than sauerkraut. Then they licked it off each other. Mmm... they said, 'tastes heavenly.'