You see an old woman lying on the street. She's dead and by the smell of her she's been dead for quite some time. Of course, given the current heatwave this assumption could be entirely false, but still, she's clearly deceased and the rot has set in; the sickly sweet stench that is currently invading your senses is all you need to have concluded that.
Now, once you get over the nausea that has gripped you and your begin to get used to such an abhorrent environment, you notice she has her granny panties around her ankles. You have no idea why this is the case, but given the circumstances it isn't impossible that some foul piece of human garbage may have taken advantage. But you're curious and in this state of morbid curiosity you want to know whether the event occurred pre or post mortem. Looking around to see if anyone is watching and concluding that there isn't, you take your foot, and kick up her skirt a little by little to see if there's any visible signs of a struggle. While there isn't any visible trauma, you're still not convinced by this approach, so you decide that a closer look will quell any and all questions you may have.
So there you are, face to face with an orifice that will never be functional again. It looks at you, you look at it... the stench at this time has all but been forgotten. What do you do?
You of course, have a taste.
And that, my friend, is Marmite.
Fuck you.
*dessert* out there.
