The smoke concealed everything except her neon pink boots…Tastes like chicken.

The smoke concealed everything except her neon pink boots.

They glowed with a light that in a cartoon would have suggested radioactivity.

The meat had definitely been past its expiration date.

Or maybe he’d messed up the labels and rather than a juicy 40 year old woman it’d been baby meat.

He was making a meat dragon, and only the finest meat would do.

When he finally finished it, its empty eye sockets seemed to stare at him.  The fleshy patchwork jaws of meat squelched open and rotten air exhaled from the cavernous throat into his face.

It took him a while to stop recoiling from the fumes, but, upon regaining his composure, he could finally marvel at his machinations.

The robot was simply a masterpiece.  His hard work had finally paid off.

His owner never imagined how delicious he was.

But now he knew.  He poured some sweet and sour sauce on, loving the way it mixed with the iron taste of blood.

Tastes like chicken.

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