The Slob

Steffen sat around the table with his brigade of flamboyant acquaintances sipping on red wine as they all offered the latest gossip to each other. The yuppie attire was ad nauseam, and Steffen’s mansion was a playground for the elite. Some played on the billiard table carved out of gorgeously stained oak, others sat by the big screen television watching David Lee Roth prance about. A debate could be heard near the fireplace, asking who’d rather fuck JFK Jr. or let Patrick Swayze fuck them. A difficult choice for the majority of them.

Trapped in a prudish age that generally scoffed at homosexuality, Steffen had created a community where the boys could be boys, no girls allowed. Well, that wasn’t entirely true though, they did join them… Maybe just not how you’d imagine. Normally, they were brought in mashed into a fine purée, harvested and canned by a small farm buried deep in the sticks. Each can was appropriately branded with the subtle acronym, “T. Y. G” or “Tender Young Girl.”

As gay men, they were used to the bottom of the social totem pole. Steffen and his collective had seen it fit to work toward changing that. If only they could whittle down the feminine populace around them while, at the same time, pocketing some of their lady-like qualities that the boys so often enjoyed projecting. There was no better way to harness that essence than the corporation-style streamlined production that they’d methodically arranged.

Of course, places like the one they’d all come to call home didn’t pay for themselves, but they were nearing a promising transition. When you possess a product as rare as what they’d been manufacturing, there was always money to be made. On the black market, one could make a killing off of killing. He’d arranged for a tasting with aspirations to strike a deal that was potentially worth millions.

Tatsuo Matsuzaki, one of Japan’s most far-reaching “businessmen,” would soon be arriving at any moment. Steffen had sent the limo to retrieve him and his men. In a matter of moments, their paradise could be made permanent. Matsuzaki was a feared criminal figurehead but the fruits that would be reaped from the contract far outweighed any of the threat. This deal would be a game-changer. The final hurdle in their path to permanent excess, relaxation, and cannibalism.

Steffen placed his silverware against the China with a dizzying pattern and scooped the last morsel of Tender Young Girl on his plate. He chewed the wet mush of meat and played with it on his pallet.

He savored the lady-brisket, pinning it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth before slowly extracting the juice and swallowing. He approached it like he was eating cereal, not another person.

“Get all the benefits, minus the period,” he quipped, serenading his boy toys with a bit of black humor. A simultaneous chime of ritzy laughter echoed around the table as he raised his glass and washed it all down.

Their superstitious belief that they were leeching the feminine qualities from their meals had become occult-like. They constantly conversed about how their skin and hair all looked much more fabulous than ever before. It was their own maxed out macabre version of primitive black magic.

Their riot was interrupted by the silver-haired man rushing through the doors and up to Steffen’s side. He whispered for him to join him in the hallway. The urgency in his tone came off like he had something significant and time-sensitive to discuss. The boys could be heard sustaining their infatuation with each other while they stepped out.

“What in God’s name is it that you’re so jumpy about?” Steffen asked, a bit annoyed since his playtime had been interrupted.

“One of them escaped. At least one. I’m not sure when, but she must’ve killed him. I only found his head in the barn.”

“You must be joking, right?”

“Afraid not, I had to cover the tracks, I lit it all on fire.”

“Tell me you got some of it before? Yes? It’s in the car, I assume?”

“There was no time, Steffen. The cops could’ve shown up at any moment. It was risky just staying long enough to burn it down.”

“Let me tell you about risky. We have Tatsuo fucking Matsuzaki flying halfway around the world, arriving any second, and we have no product. How do you suppose he might react?” The door down the hall opened before an answer could come. “What the devil are we going to do?!”

“We could, umm… I could order pizza, if you want?”

“Pizza? Have you gone mad? You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe that will hold them off at least until we can gauge how upset he’ll be? He’s going to be hungry no doubt after a long trip like that, we better have something on hand.”

“Jesus Christ! Alright, order the fucking pizza. I can’t believe this,” Steffen finally agreed, exuding defeat.

“Well, what kind should I get?”

“Oh, umm… Definitely get two with the uncured pepperoni, I love how they curl up and hold the grease. The rest I could care less.”

“Got it,” the silver-haired man said, stepping away.

“Oh! Oh! Where you ordering from?”

“My Daddy’s Pizza…”

“Damn right you are,” Steffen confirmed, immediately turning to the guests that had now descended upon him.

“Mr. Matsuzaki! Oh, what a pleasure to finally meet the man in person. Thank you so much for agreeing to our meeting.”

Matsuzaki shook his hand and smiled, surrounded by what felt like a classroom of the absolute worst of the worst. Tattooed in surplus, flesh riddled with scars and slice marks, this was about the least friendly bunch you could ever imagine.

“It is my honor,” he bowed his head humbly after concluding his greeting.

The entire evening went without a hitch, Matsuzaki was a friendly guy and a real comedian. He must’ve been reading a gay joke book on the plane ride over because he had them in stitches. He also loved the pizza, apparently, he’d never had uncured pepperoni before which felt like a huge win. Steffen seemed much more at ease knowing that his suggestion helped to defuse a potentially lethal scenario.

Some of the goons he brought must have been local because they spoke excellent English. They seemed to be getting quite chummy with Steffen’s playboys as their casual exchange and dialog flourished about the room. It was like a match made in heaven that made the difficult message so much easier for Steffen to deliver.

Steffen divulged all the details of what happened on the farm and apologized incessantly. He assured Matsuzaki that the deal could happen in the future once they’d made further arrangements. They would need to rejuvenate the operations aspect of their manufacturing before they could complete their transaction.

He seemed to understand, not appearing upset in the least. They continued on smoothly like the hiccup was merely a pothole on their solid foundation of friendship. But after a couple more hours of mindless banter, Matsuzaki stood up from his chair to stretch his legs. He looked at Steffen and grinned.

“There is a choice you must make now,” he explained chillingly, his smile wiping away.

Steffen perked up, his bowels suddenly feeling the unexpected fright simmering within him.

“You have no deliver on your end of agreement. So now you must make choice,” Matsuzaki commanded sternly in his shattered English that was further muddled in his heavy accent.

“I’m terribly sorry. I assure you—no! I promise you! I will make it right,” Steffen offered, praying that he’d accept.

“There is no make right anymore, only the choice. I travel here, long way to meet you. You disgrace yourself; you disgrace our partnership. You no have tender young girl, only pizza. Pizza is good, yes. I like uncure pepperoni, yes, is true, but pepperoni is no human.” All of Mr. Matsuzaki’s scary unit began brandishing their guns and knives ominously.

“Mr. Miyagi… err, sorry, I’m drunk, Mr. Mats—”

“Silence! You only further embarrass yourself with speech. Now you must listen. Tonight, we MUST have tender young girl. If no, then we shall have tough young boy. You make choice.”

“But, Mr. Matsuzaki, I’ve already explained, we don’t have any more but… but we can get it soon, I swear it!”

“Decision has been made.”

Their pleading cries meant nothing. Luckily for the boys, he made the executions swift and respectful. He had them all file into a single row while holding them at gunpoint. He took each of them one by one into the bathroom to watch their beheadings.

All of the boys were forced to kneel over the bathtub with their hands behind their backs. By the end of the exercise, the tub looked like it belonged to Elizabeth Bathory. A dozen or so heads lingered, floating around in the blood pool that was pushing the capacity limit of the receptacle.

Mr. Matsuzaki was very respectful, they made sure not to dirty the house at all. After they cooked and devoured their fair share of tough young boy, they looked at each other with mixed reviews. Matsuzaki tried putting fried slices on pizza which he seemed to enjoy a little more than by itself.

They left the house clean as a whistle, and even did the dishes that they used to cook and eat the men in. They dug a large pit in the backyard on the property’s raw land where they piled the remains. The mass grave was filled in and they left a small crucifix as another sign of what they perceived as respect, not really comprehending that these were not religious men.

They all debated whether or not the trip was worth it during their travel back home. The consensus seemed to be that it was because they all really enjoyed the personalities of the men they’d eaten.