He was born of grass and grain, broken to the smallest elements, reprocessed in way of protein, fat and carbohydrates, and grew into the left rear of a black and white spotted Hereford. Life was slow, his host was lazy and fat, and so thus was he too. He longed to work and flex his muscles but exercise existed only in the way of walking and casually drifting during the graze. Over the years he grew bigger and perfectly marbled with delicious fat.

One day his host was thrown into a chute and a needle full of steroids was pumped into him. It burned for days. This was just the beginning of the pain he would feel in his life. The shots would continue, always in the ass, always in him. Then one day, he and the spotted Hereford would be herded inside a truck and transported for a grueling 400 miles, then carted into a factory and put in a long line of others just like them. The fear of his host would send endorphins into him and he would tense with the fear as well. As they approached the front of the line the fear great unbearable and the meat of his whole body was tainted. Then a bolt tore through the skull and brain of the spotted Hereford and it died.

He did not die though, his lifeblood drained slowly from him, and strength of his cells depleted slowly and agonizingly. He was hung from a hook among thousands of other parts like him. It was cold, colder than he had ever been, and he didn’t move for almost a week. Then he was pulled down by a short man with a thin black pervert mustache and short hair, and brown skin of course. The man brought him to a small room, and cut him, his body, from the the bone he was connected to. Next he was shoved into a grinder with hundreds of others, all abused and unhappy like him. They were torn apart and mixed together.

He was packaged next. In hundreds of different packages pieces of him struggled on Styrofoam, encased in saran wrap. He could hardly breath and felt himself beginning to rot, a hundred fold times at once. He was then moved in another trunk and placed in a store.

Joe bought one of him, and Steve, and Mary, and Phil and Irene. A restaurant named Dottie’s Cafe bought him in bulk. Slight variations of his torture happened in their homes and businesses. His body mutilated with burning spices, and left to sit and marinate in pain. Then heat, always heat. They burned him alive, till most of him was dead. Some left more alive than others, but always his outsides were charred. Then he was eaten.

Chewed up and swallowed, mixed with different acids and pushed through the stomach of a human, and now and then a dog. There was not much left of him any more, his senses no longer wished for it to stop, wished for those peaceful days in the field, getting fat in the sunshine. At this point he just went with the flow, which eventually ended up coming out of his new host as shit, or passing through the element process again and becoming proteins, fats and carbohydrates. The parts that just became shit, ended up on the ground. It sucked him up and produced grass and other new vegetable life with what little nourishment was left of him.

He never died, just continued on and on, but it could be said that there were parts of his existence that he enjoyed more than others.


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