Come now, don't be squeamish—

even if it is your first time.

Perhaps a lesson from the food

industry will help.

Back in the day—yes, I know

the sun is now accursed

and remains forever off-limits—

but long before

your taste buds, along with the rest

of you, died off,

restaurateurs leaned how much

more likely an item

was to sell if its pedestrian or street

name was replaced by

something more exotic or palatable

sounding: hence sweet-

breads, escargot, and mountain

oysters; phoenix

talons (the braised feet of ducks)

and Chilean sea bass

(the less than toothsome Patagonian

toothfish); even kiwi fruit

(née the Chinese gooseberry).

All sound delicious, do they not?

More than likely, as

gourmet items, they'll also put a huge

dent in your wallet.

So why not do the same with tonight's

repast? Believe me,

the aversion to calling what now forms

the only foodstuff in our diet

anything other than it is will pass soon

enough, whether it's

two-legged steak, neck tartare,

metropolitan lamb

served au jus, or simply Swift's Veal.

Of course, unlike

your five star establishment, all of these

menu items must also

be caught and dragged down first, but

it's not like between dusk

and dawn, we post-human walkabouts,

we necro-gourmands,

we Homo semimortui, have anything

better to do.