A cooking show gone horribly wrong
“And here’s our surprise chef for this morning, Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Good morning!”
“Good morning, Patty,” said the tall, handsome man in the fine suit.
“Now, I understand you’re a psychiatrist?”
“That’s correct,” said Hannibal. “However, I am a forensic psychiatrist. I delve into the mind of the serial criminal, and I often don’t get to meet them until after they’ve been captured.”
“Wow, that is so-o-o-o spooky,” chirped Patty. “I don’t suppose you could find out who keeps stealing my chocolate stash when we’re off-air? Haha.”
“Haha,” Hannibal dutifully echoed. “I’m afraid I’d have to charge.”
Patty giggled and changed the subject. “So, what are we cooking, today, Doctor?”
“Today I bought some fresh, long pork ribs,” he displayed a neat tray, “and I’ll be sharing my grandmother’s famous rib roast sauce recipe.”
“Those are a lot of ribs,” said Patty. “There goes my diet!”
Up in the command centre, someone dutifully typed Long Pork Rib Roast. for the subtitle on the screen. It took ten minutes before the phones started ringing. By that time, Patty was dutifully massaging the famous sauce into her selection of ribs.
By the time the police were on their way, Patty was sharing around some that Hannibal had prepared earlier.
They found the producer, or the majority of what was left of him, neatly parceled and packaged in his office refrigerator. The bones, his head, and all the major organs were also neatly parceled, but in the trash.
Long pork, they learned that day, is a euphemism for human flesh.
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