The Finicky Cannibal

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On a small tropical island the inhabitants enjoy a hideous treat.

When they can get the necessary ingredients, it’s people they like to eat.

 

Among these bizarre strange people there lives the weirdest guy of all.

He won’t eat just anybody: he’s the finicky cannibal.

 

On service station attendants he will certainly take a pass.

"I wouldn’t eat them," he says, "because you know they give you gas."

 

There are other people he won’t eat, though it makes him seem somehow faulty.

He won’t eat sailors, no, not at all, because they’re just too salty.

 

He dislikes sprinters and marathoners, because they’re a bit too runny.

He certainly won’t eat clowns, because they just taste funny.

 

His people once captured some folks who came from a small rural town.

He wouldn’t eat the good men, because they’re so hard to keep down.

 

It seems of eating people he’s had more than quite enough.

He absolutely won’t eat cowboys, because they’re way too tough.

 

When he saw what was on the menu one night, he declared, all ajitter,

that he would not eat divorceés, because they’re always bitter.

 

From eating Chinese folk he will always want to abstain,

because half an hour later he’s just feeling hungry again.

 

Never mind the tastelessness of the stupid, self-honking Aryan.

This poor guy, who won’t eat people, might just as well go vegetarian.

 

Ultimately, though, good sense will win and his mind will come along

and subconsciously acknowledge that eating people is wrong.

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