black pudding cannibalism
My granddad was a butcher. Like any butcher, he occasioanlly suffered a nasty cut while chopping and slicing, especially when the meat was fresh out of the cold locker and his hands were numb. Indeed, on one occasion he chopped of the top off his right index finger while trimmin some pork.

But he was of the old school. Waste not want not was his refrain, and as the claret pulsed from the wound, he was quick-minded enough to grab a receptacle and collect the precious fluid as he phoned the emergency services with the other hand.

How he laughed next morning when we tucked into a full English breakfast, icluding a small black pudding he'd made with his very own blood and some supplementary pork fat! Mum vomited herself dry, dad swore immoderately and my sister became a vegetarian for life. I thoght it was quite nice.
(frankspencer, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 11:29, Reply)