At least once a day, I find a reason to end a sentence with, “…but then, I’m a bad person.” I grew up with the internet and the dark web both, and once upon a time thought it made me a Cool Chick™ to put up with the guys I knew sending me gore porn from 4chan trying to gross me out. The fact is, the internet just put a camera on what humans were doing to themselves and each other in real life. I’d done enough home surgery in my kitchen by the time I was twenty that nothing they were posting on LiveLeak ever surprised me. You do what you have to when you don’t have insurance.
What I’m saying is, the ghoulish shit I’ve been getting up to in Graveyard Keeper all day is probably funnier to me than it would be to someone less jaded by the internet. I sure do dig up corpses that have been in the ground since before I moved here, slice off enough body parts to make them pretty, and make club sandwiches from the remains. No one’s commented on that yet. Townsfolk seem fine with it. God knows where the socialist donkey is getting all these bodies. Maybe it’s frothing capitalist satire, like the new Monopoly? The leftist donkey running a cannibalistic deli with an unqualified gravedigger in the pocket of the inquisitorial church? That’s pretty spicy, son, that’s some QAnon shit.
I wish I could say the leftist donkey
growing moss outside in the picket line
wasn’t just the latest waste of my time –
what good are you if you don’t bring me bodies?
It’s flesh I want, and I will dig it up.
I’ve got the disinterment order here –
the bishop signed it for me over beers –
he’s a close personal friend, the bishop.
I’ll dig up your dead grandpa over lunch;
his face is hurting my graveyard’s feng shui.
We’ll pull out all the parts that make him crunch
and trim off any meat that looks okay.
Now, you could use a sandwich, I’ve a hunch –
do you like pork? I sliced this just today.