The Packing Factory pt. 1

[zl]

Without going into details, let's just make it clear: I've never eaten a single digit of another human being.  That is to say, I am entirely not a cannibal.  I don't even bite my fingernails.

   I wanted you to know that up front, because I'm about to go into details and the details might lead you to make some wrong assumptions about me.  So just keep that in mind - this story you're about to hear does not have a cannibal as its protagonist.

   Now that that's straight, I can let you know the other stuff - My name is Thomas Dagley, I'm a journalist, I'm thirty-three years old, and my favorite food is honey oat bagels.  See - and that's not even a meat.  I do eat meat - probably most days - but it isn't a big event.  I really don't spend much time thinking about that kind of stuff.  I'm barely interested in food as a subject matter.  It was just that, at this one point in my life, I was not at a place where I could pick and choose which writing assignments to accept.  And so I was sent to check out a meat shipping industry, sort of a local business profile.  To me, it was pure paycheck.  No other motivation.

   So I'm driving down to this business, Sheldon Packaged Goods.  The street it's on, it's the kind of street that's lined with factory buildings on either side, always empty or just about empty.  And mixed in with all these abandoned factories was Sheldon Packaged Goods.  They were as busy as the other factories were dead. Big refridgerated trucks driving in and out, lights on in all the windows, the sounds of machinery and men at work.  There was no visitor's lot - I parked around the side of the building in a sandy sort of clearing.

   I had an appointment with the vice president of the company - he met me just inside the front doors.  It was a sterile little reception area - a single mat on the floor, two doors leading out, and an empty desk with no receptionist or even a chair.  I had taken my coat off as I came into the room - now I put it back on, seeing there was no other place for it.     The vice president gave my hand a brisk shaking.  "Mr. Dagley? Glad to see you made it. We have about half an hour for the interview. Come on up to my office." He opened a door, led me down a short hallway, and up a flight of stairs.  He climbed the stairs two steps at a time.  We stopped in front of - I assumed - the door to his office.  He didn't open it.  Instead, he turned around to faced me and asked, "So - what do you want to know?"

   I took out my notebook and pen.  "Well, to start, I'd like to know a bit about you - what's your name, how long have you worked here, that sort of thing." To my surprise, I was beginning to sweat.

   "Albert Snooks. I've been working in the company for 18 years...It was just last year I was made vice president. Mind if we start the tour as we talk?  I overbooked myself today, you understand.." Albert was already walking back down the hall towards the reception room.  I wasn't, at this point, feeling very welcome.  But I followed him.

   "That's fine - uh - so, do you feel that this company serves the community in an important way?"

   "Oh absolutely, Mr. Dagley.  Why the meat would just pile up, if we weren't here to ship it out."  Walking behind him, I couldn't tell if he was smiling.

   "No doubt!  How many people does your company employ, Mr. Snooks?"

   "We have eight people in finances and operations, twelve in transportation, twenty-two on the floor, and another six in research and developement."  We arrived back in the barren reception room.  Mr. Snooks led me through the other door, down another short hallway, and onto a metal ramp leading upwards.

   "What sort of research do you need in a shipping business?"

   "Oh, a number of things.  Preservatives, packing styles, more durable materials.  It keeps our researchers busy.  This, by the way, is the factory floor."  He gestured over the side of the ramp.  20 feet below was a large open room, criss-crossed with conveyer belts.  The air was chilled and the room pulsed with a loud hum.  I could see a number of people below - carrying packages, standing by the conveyer belts, or operating large, intimidating machines.

   "Chilly," I said.

   "Letting the meat cool even a few degrees means several days off the expiration date."

   I stared at the men below.  They were shirtless - sweating, even.  I could see their breath in the frosty air. I watched one burly man directing a truck as it backed into a loading bay.  The truck parked and the burly man walked over to the driver's side door.  He opened it, pulled out the driver, and threw him onto the floor.  He started pummelling him with his feet and fists.  The driver was shouting in pain and confusion, but none of the other workers on the floor seemed to take any notice.  "Hey," I said, still staring at the scene below, "what's he doing? What's going on down there?"

   Mr. Snooks walked on. "Oh, the workers can get fairly rowdy after a long day's work." There was loud, wet cracking sound as the burly man slammed the driver's head into the cement floor.  The driver went limp, and his assailant calmly grabbed his legs and dragged him away from the truck.

   I was sweating and fumbling for my camera. "Oh my God, I think he killed him.  I think that worker..." One of the closer employees on the floor below heard me.  He looked up at me and smiled. I stepped back from the edge of the ramp, and hurried over to Mr. Snooks.

[buttplug]

Jesus Christ I NEED MORE NOW

[DiscoBallClock]

Interesting.

[buttplug]

Please finish this

[InuitClock]

Well done.

[DiscoBallClock]

Hey ZL please finish this along with the others

[Kombucha]

The Fudgepacking Factory

[SpinningCubeClock]

So as I was walking back into the stale reception room, I thought I could sense a presence behind me, following me. I quickly turned around to catch it before it could hide behind a door or and old watercolour, but as I turned, Mr. Snooks whipped out his cock and jammed it inbetween my cheeks.

Now I'm no homosexual, don't get me wrong, I do eat meat - probably most days - but it isn't a big event. I really don't spend much time thinking about that kind of stuff. He thrusted in and out of my now bleeding anus. I could hear it tearing with every forward thrust. Then he came in me and it dripped onto the floor and it felt nice and he smiled and i laffd and we shook hands and i said good day to you sir i said good day good day good day I SAID GOOD DAY omg YOU WON CHARLIE YOU WON and then i drov ehome and it hurt to sit in my car and i killed myself with a rope off my porch as children rode past on their bikes goodbye i said goodbuye.

[Bigglesnoots]

now we're on the subject of ZL finishing things, remember that text-based adventure game?

yeah.

...

[zl]

now we're on the subject of ZL finishing things, remember that text-based adventure game?

yeah.

...

oh yeah!!!!

[zl]

oh yeah!!!!

But this month my unfinished project of choice is my clockday animation

[Bigglesnoots]

I guess that's fair