The taste of death

To say something like, "I feel like I've eaten death," sounds hardcore, of course, but really...what does it mean? The mind summons images of swallowers of entropy itself, unspeakable fiends whose souls are derived not of evil, but of stark madness-- bastardized perversions of nature who sup on energies that all other rational beings rank as the negative counter image of the holiest of forces: the inneffible force of life. It is from this very image that J.K. Rawling derived her own chilling, if meant for children, vision of evil in Valdemort and his cloaked henchman. It is certainly this notion that now pervades all modern images of demons and vampires. Eaters of life force, consumers of pain, devourers of hope. Eaters of death. What is the succubus if it is not a demon who eats passion: the little death.

I would suggest, however, that death in this sense is only a superlative (and an only slightly exagerated one) for that which is, in reality, only a reheated turkey burger patty topped with microwaved, rather than fried, bacon...which I will admit may not in fact actually taste like death but which remains, nonetheless, in the ranks as one of my more ridiculous culinary mishaps.