Black Humour Five0019 Pull The Rug 2

Symphony of flavours

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Symphony of flavours

“And….we’re through. Take them ribs off, let ’em ponder a bit. A quick rest, and then, it’s showtime. Cut between them bones and let them flavors sing. There you have it – Grandma Jenny’s St. Louis-Style Barbecue Ribs. A symphony of flavors, a dance of textures,” Cameron announced to the camera with pride and a twinkle in his eyes.

“And…cut,” Gerald bellowed, “For goodness’ sake, Cam, you ain’t Gordon fuckin’ Ramsay, quit with all them theatrics.”

“Ger, this is his last meal; it’s gotta be memorable.”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s a gimmick. Nothin’ more. Nothin’ less. I even sweetened the deal by promisin’ him 10-grand for his soon-to-be widow.”

“And that’s why this whole video, from preparin’ his last meal to him grubbin’ down, will spread like wildfire.”

“Well, you betcha. People eat up this kinda drama. This might just be the stunt that saves us after that dang Covid mess. This here’s our final chance to rescue our darn restaurant. Plus, that 10-grand I promised to the widow ain’t no small change. We need every bit of publicity we can get.”


Gerald took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him in the chilly evening air. “Damn, Cam, never thought we’d be servin’ the last supper for a goddam serial killer. Life takes some twisted turns.”

Cameron nodded, his eyes fixed on the entrance of Potosi correctional center. “Yeah, Ger, this whole thing’s messin’ with my head. Feels like we’re dancing with the devil here.”

Gerald chuckled, “Well, Cam, let’s hope the devil’s got a taste for Grandma Jenny’s ribs. Might’be the only thing savin’ our asses.”

Inside the prison, the scene unfolded in a surreal manner. The prisoner, lost in the pleasure of the ribs, devoured it with a feral intensity—a rebellion against fate, a fleeting escape within the shadow of death. He locked eyes with Cameron, a hint of gratitude in his gaze. “Thanks for this, Chef. It’s like a damn symphony in my mouth.”

Cameron forced a smile, “Enjoy it while it lasts, my man.”

Gerald, watching from a distance, couldn’t help but mutter to himself, “A symphony of flavors for a son of a bitch. What a world we live in.”


“He’s gone? For real?”

“Yeah, just a couple hours ‘fore they stick him with that lethal injection. And don’t you fret about it. It’s routine. Ain’t nobody givin’ a hoot ’bout a couple hours here ‘n there,” the officer ended the call in a hush.

Cameron rushed over to Grandma Jenny. “He’s gone, Meemaw. But, not by injections and sweet sleep but shuddering seizures and bloody bursts; that’s what he deserves for what he did to sweet little Amelia.”

Grandma Jenny smiled from the couch and beckoned Cameron over. “Come here, dear. We won, finally. It worked.”

“What’d you do, Meemaw?”

She leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let’s just say, those ribs had a little extra kick. A taste of justice, Cameron. A taste of justice.”



Author’s Notes:

Nothing much to add so leaving some interesting links here if you are hungry (St. Louis-Style Barbecue Ribs recipe) or curious to find why some people might think lethal injection is too humane for some sons of bitches who did some inhumane stuffs (lethal injections: too safe?)

Cover Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash


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