Editor's Note: The Inspector has chosen to spend money on antique postcards rather than exact the necessary repairs.
'Careful is the last thing I plan on being'
So, I ventured out last night as most beings would on a warm summer's eve, to get some fresh moist air through my intake valves in order to avoid build up. And what did I happen upon? A fascinating scene of death and carnage. It seemed a young human who had been tooling about
the area on his motorcycle had been smashed by a cumbersome and idiotic SUV driver. The youth's brains were spattered about on the ground and some of his limbs were contorted in an odd but exciting manner. Apparently he had forgotten his skull protection at home. Emergency personnel had already arrived on the scene and were addressing some of the participants. The driver of the SUV appeared to be an emotional wreck, and I intend a pun. Other onlookers were so horrified by the events that they were vomiting in the bushes. Still others were pouring into near-by watering holes to drink away the trauma. I was brought to oil-spewing-nausea, for both the motorcycle and car were hideously mangled as well. The humans were milling around in unpredictable vectors exclaiming, “What do we do with the corpse?” My mind, however, was quizzically blank, except for one question: what do human brains taste like? In light of that, I discretely took a sample of the brains from the soiled concrete near the mangled body. The piece of brain I picked up off of the curb was tasteless, so I decided to get a bigger sample. Despite the yelling, fainting and crying of small children, I retrieved the rest of the brain from the body. It was only until I ate most of it that I remembered I never had any olfactory detectors in the first place, rendering my sense of taste nearly useless.
'A taste of your baby too, perhaps?'
Many decades ago, a warm summer breeze blew across the boardwalk as I cruised along, taking it all in, hysterical young humans running about. I noted a young girl eating an ice cream cone and thoroughly enjoying it. To her dismay, I sampled some of that delicious cream of hers. To my dismay, I realized I could only produce the chemical equations essential to the substance and not quantify at all the taste or enjoyment of eating this cold treat as a human could. It wasn't the swelling of the emotions I yearned for; god knows those are some of the worst parts of being human; it was the ability to distinguish one taste from another, the sweet, sour, salty and bitter that I was eager to command. I was perplexed to say the least. Alas, I'll never know what those brains would've tasted like, or anything else for that matter. Luckily it will never matter as I need only rely on petroleum products. Well, as I say, "Evolution's a bitch!" Bon Soir, I'm off to a lingerie show.
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