Written by Zachary D. Turner and illustrated by Charles J. MacDonald
Globs was a cannibal. He ate other people.
Globs lived with a collective of other cannibals, which really shouldn’t have been a sustainable living situation, but I digress.
Globs wanted to expand his palette. Snobs, the cannibalette, suggested Tender: an app that pairs you with yummy meat-trolleys you can interview prior to eating.
Globs met Lori on Tender. Lori was a meat-trolley dressed up in a pretty painted skin-jacket. She had looked good on the digital display case.
Globs introduced himself. One thing led to another and soon Lori, the flesh-pocket, and Globs, the cannibal, were out on the town. Lori had a couple of drinks, and Globs whet his whistle.
Globs asked Lori if she wanted to Netflix and chill. Lori acquiesced.
It was later that night, that Globs, the cannibal, ate Lori’s arm.
One week later, Lori met with her lawyer.
Lori, pleadingly, implored her lawyer to take this case to trial.
Lori’s lawyer, pretentiously, informed Lori that the odds were not in her favor.
Lori, exasperatedly, pleaded her case again.
Lori’s lawyer, condescendingly, informed Lori that there was not enough evidence to carry the case.
Lori, incredulously, waved her stub-arm around like an excited Diglet.
One month later, the case went to court.
Both sides presented their case. Globs’ lawyer said that Globs can’t help being who he is; he’s driven by an insatiable desire to munch on yummy meat-trolleys. He insisted that Globs also could not be held accountable for his actions when he was under the influence of a wet whistle.
Lori’s lawyer was a tin bucket filled with eggs and gummy bears, so the only sounds he made were squeeeeeshy bear growls.
The judge, a fellow cannibal named Jorbs, reached a decision. Globs was not guilty.
Lori’s rage tornado was an A+.
“Judge, this is bullshit,” exclaimed Lori, “this court is bullshit. This story is bullshit, and the language it employs is bullshit. You can’t reduce people down to walking meat-trolleys and shrug it off when they get their goddamn arms bitten off by fucking cannibals! This shit happens all the time, and nothing changes! It’s 2015, and Luke Shmyran is still writing songs about eating toe chips in his skin-hat. It’s archaic. It’s senseless. Non-cannibals should be able to walk down the street at night without this realistic fear of getting eaten, just as we worked to ensure that men could walk down the street at night without getting raped!”
The courtroom went silent.
“Woah there, Lori,” said the judge, “you know better than to allude to the sexual harassment of men. Our courts worked hard to abolish that decades ago. That was a dark time for men: we couldn’t so much as walk down the street without getting dog-called, and sheep-whistled at. People used to throw around terms such as ‘fatherfucker’ and ‘daughter of a fuckboy’ like it was no big deal. Back then, people went around saying ‘hey, gals’ to everyone, like we weren’t even there. It was as if we were invisible. It’s a better, safer time for our gender now.”
“Sorry, judge, I—I, should’ve known better,” Lori conceded.
The judge sighed, “Anyways, with regards to the case, Lori, Globs is a cannibal. It’s what cannibals do. I mean, for one, you went home with someone named Globs. That was your first mistake. Like, his name is Globs; you could not have found a more Cannibal-sounding name if you tried.
Second of all, the defense says you smelled like people, which, hello, is what cannibals eat. Let’s face it: you were asking to get eaten that night.”
American Fables 