Why I may have a taste for cannibalism

So I have this chum called Franz Liszt…

No, of course I don’t. Who has a chum called Franz Liszt? But I have this chum who doesn’t want to be named. So let’s say I have this chum called Franz Liszt…

…and yesterday afternoon, over lunch, Franz asked me (this is absolutely true):

“If you had to eat somebody, who would you eat first? Someone you liked or someone you disliked?”

“Erm…,” I replied. “I guess someone I didn’t like. For one thing, you’d have to dismember the body, which wouldn’t be very nice if you liked the person.”

“But,” Franz countered, “If you liked the person, it would be as if a bit of that person was perpetuated by being inside you.”

“But,” I said, “after a few days, you would shit them out and that might make you feel a bit disrespectful.”

“You wouldn’t want someone you didn’t like inside you, though,” Franz persisted.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to eat a tasteless comedian,” I said. “It’s a bit like chicken, I think.”

“Chicken?”

“Human flesh,” I said. “I think I’ve read or heard people who have eaten human flesh and it’s a bit like chicken.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Franz.

“Ah,” I said. “I thought maybe you might.”

“No,” he said.

Then, after a long pause, he added:

“Do you like the taste of chicken?”

“Sometimes,” I replied.

In fact, I do.

A lot.

Now it’s a worry to me.

Life. Don’t talk to me about life.