Foodstuffs

Many of you nonexistent readers have been wondering what it is I eat, here on this repressed isle of the damned.

Well, the answer to that is: Not Much!

I have no money and live in an Apparatus Approved apartment and work at an Apparatus Approved Job (An Object of Curiosity) and receive Apparatus Approved Foodstuffs. And the foodstuffs are meager items consisting mainly of soybeans and corn and rutabagas as well as extracts from soybeans and corn and rutabagas.

However, in my position as a wandering Object of Curiosity, I do now and then come across some food, or discover decently edible things which have been mistakenly (or non-mistakenly) discarded and then I end up with stuff like this:

Visit Soybean Island

Ho (ho hah hah heeteehee) ha ha ha ha ha . . . Yes, I eat this as it is quite healthy (other than the obvious rotten areas) and keeps me from obtaining scurvy and rickets and other malnutrition diseases.

Sometimes I'm even able to throw something of this edible nature together:

Looks pretty good, does it not?

Yes, it does.

In general, I do not get stuffs like this:

Much too fresh and fruity for The Apparatus to allow it wasted on the likes of me . . .

No. I must make do with what I can muster without mustard. Most often I end up with a longstanding, ribsticking, heartlessharty meal that resembles thick gruel:

How yummy!

Meat? Do I eat meat you, you who are speechless and who do not even exist, ask?

Yes.

If I can get it.

Sometimes, out in The Homesteads, I see opportunities for a meat dish:

I am uncertain as to what the cooked creature is in the above photo, but I do know that I made it with oil and sliced moldy rutabagas and these wonderful Apparatus Approved and Supplied Spices, also known as Salt and Pepper!

Ah, but we can not all eat such splendor-glorious meals. No, we can not. And in truth I am much luckier than a good many, a great many, probably the majority, of humans on earth. I have food. I can eat. I have a measure of freedom in this freedom-starved land.


And even when I am hungry, I can always pretend. I can always see some idealized food lit up in lights:

Or see great and gigantic muffins topped with thick icing growing along the streets of this (un)fair city!:

Yes.

I can always pretend.

Except when I can't . . .


Oneninefiveseven over and out--Goodbye from Soybean Island