2/13/96
There has been a recent controversy among animal rights activists and Madonna fans regarding her mentioning that she eats foie gras. Now, before I go on, I must make it clear that I had no idea what foie gras was, I didn't even know of the existence of such a thing, before Madonna talked about it. I garnered from a fellow fan that it is made out of ducks or chickens or something of that nature. They are force fed beyond the point of becoming obese for the purpose of enhancing their flavor. Then they are slaughtered and served in fine restaurants to heartless, cold-blooded pigs such as Madonna.
Now I don't know how the animals that she eats feel, but I think that if I were one of them, I would feel honored. Yes, that's correct. Honored. No, wait a minute. Honored does not sufficiently describe how I would feel. Not even close. I don't think there's a word in the English language to describe the ironic elation I would feel to be bestowed with this pleasure. Think about it. I would be feeding, sustaining, revitalizing the world's spiritual savior. I cannot hope to think of any greater ecstasy.
Unfortunately, this will never be possible. Why not, you say? Isn't it obvious? I am not a duck, a chicken, a cow, a fish, or any other such beast of the earth. Therefore, I am asking Madonna to put herself through a metamorphasis unimaginably more breathtaking than anything she has ever done in the past. I am asking Madonna to become a cannibal for once in her lifetime. If she is indeed willing to experiement in the avant-garde, she will at least give this proposal a fair hearing.
I volunteer myself, my soft tender brain, my tough crunchy throat, my juicy eyeballs, my tasty tongue, my strengthened lungs, my vitality-filled heart, my soon-to-be fattened stomach, my muscular arms, my lardy penis, and my well-exercised legs and feet, and she can throw my bones to her dog. I will be locked in a small cage and force-fed until her chefs deem me ready. They will then prepare me in the proper fashion. This may or may not require me to be alive while the following happens: I will have my limbs removed and myself cut open. I will be fried, baked, or boiled, or, if the mistress has exotic tastes, she may prefer to eat me raw. I will be eaten, piece by piece, by The Goddess Herself, and my bones chewed by her dog, as mentioned before. My remnants will then be digested and absorbed into the body of The Almighty, and my purpose in this life will be complete.
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If you made it through that whole thing without turning off your computer in disgust, flooding my mailbox with hatemail, or running to the toilet and puking, YOU have the willpower of a god, and should Madonna turn down my offer, I will consider making a similar offer to anyone who truly in their heart was NOT offended while reading this.
P.S. From me to you: that was THE most grueling bunch of shit I have ever written in my ENTIRE life, and I hope I never have to write anything like it again. So why did I do it? Well, to quote you-know-who: "I have that side which is completely masochistic and willing to, literally, do anything for love."