Hannibal Lecter, I love you.
I love your knowledge of anatomy, your fashion sense, your skill in the kitchen. No-one looks as good as you in a white fedora. You share my pure distaste for Ray Liotta. Ha ha, “distaste”. I make joke.
Please don’t eat me.
Hannibal, I love how anyone who fucks with you gets their ass handed to them on a silver platter. So to speak! I love how you don’t have to resort to chewing people out when they get rude with you. Not literally. I love how you seize life by the balls and dig in.
Seriously, do not eat me.
I know a lot of sport is made of your eating habits, and I can relate. I’ve got the ‘beetus - I can’t have Snickers bars or Coca Cola. You enjoy a steaming pile of human entrails. WHO DOESN’T, from time to time? Who are they to judge you?
I’d love to hang out with you some time, just you and me and a couple of fragrant strangers, riding elevators, picking up hitchhikers, watching cartoons. Today I’m honoring you, the Big Boss of the Day, because you are NOT to be messed with and your competence is unparalleled. I like the idea that you and I could be bosom buddies. Chums. Not in the “bait” sense of the word that you think I mean it, not like I want to eat other people with you, ha ha! AHAHA. Ha ha ha HAHAHAHAHA ha ha. ha.
Seriously, let’s eat some people together.