I am sick of women and their condescending analogies. Do you think, oh you dainty tarts, that a piece of meat has no feelings? You pretend to be sensitive and then assume thoughtlessly that we of the butchered species have no pride!
I do not believe in pretense and am proud of my sinuous frame and my juicy texture. I feel appreciated every time someone stares at me with ravenous longing. But your chauvinist comparisons have driven me over the edge. As an act of defiance I shall show you how a piece of meat can live a far more fulfilling life and have an immensely more meaningful end than any one of you pompous pooches.
I look more succulent than ever before, carved out and marinated, I am ready for the furnace. I shall emerge with my flesh just the right shade of pink to tempt my “devourer” (giggle). And I will submit myself to him without any dainty façade, ending my life in his caressing jaws. With my last gasps I will hear my “devourer” moan with pleasure as my juices overwhelm his mouth.
I shall end my existence, with every inch me cherished and understood. You demure daisies can go on with your speeches, dense with scrupulous indignation. Label me inanimate and make me the epitome of senseless carnal desire. I do not care. I will soon be liberated.