The Pschyco.

[Kitosdad]

The heavy fog pervaded the dark alleyways of Berlin's down-town. It crept insidiously between collar and scarf, chilling one to the very marrow.

I stopped momentarily to thank the Lord that the days of Jack the Ripper were long gone, and that his evil had been laid to rest below a couple of metres of sodden earth, and yet, upon reflection, didn't we sinners have him to thank for our notoriety?

Hadn't he, single-handedly, forged a blue-print of terror for we others to follow?
OK, it's true that he went a little too far with his dismembering.

I mean, what was the point of hanging body parts and entrails all around a nice room like that?
What satisfaction did he get from that?
I mean, it wasn't even art, not even by today's puzzling standards.
No, that wouldn't do for me, no way.

Speaking for myself, I only ever take the choicest, tenderest parts, to be gently fried with a sprinkling of garlic, and maybe some finely chopped spring onions.
That, washed down with a bottle of chilled wine, delicious.

Not that I can afford fine wine, what with being on the dole and that, but a bottle of Liddl's finest is good enough for me, after all, beggars can't be choosers.

Right, off I go. Who's on the menu tonight?

Kitos.
_________________
If you need me, I'm here.

[Fan Of Arabian Horses]

hey,

come on you´re not telling us that you need a whole person even if the offer is just a kid? Hence gourmets would prefer the liver. Ask Dr. Proctor.

[Kitosdad]

_________________
If you need me, I'm here.