Blades and Slabs.

I'm waiting for a good movie about what I have done. I wonder--who will play me? After all, what I have done is nothing short of my own personal masterpiece. Call it what you will; tasteless, abysmal, sickening... Murder. My knife is the brush and I am the instrument. The blade sinks into the skin with an almost orgasmic sense. I--love the feeling of cold, sharp metal severing something as fragile as flesh. The way that the meat glistens along the blade and coats it crimson is a feeling that I have long adored since my first taste of it. My slab laid before me helpless. My eyes became entranced to its warm, luminescence gloom. The possibilities are endless. Where did I begin? Do I start from the bottom and casually work my way upward? Or do I do the opposition? Maybe I am feeling a bit frisky; so I may go for the middle. Cut it up nice and clean. Yeah, that's right--nice and clean. Am I disgusting you yet? Perhaps making you uncomfortable? Either way, good. Once, I became so enticed by a particular section on my slab. So I carefully sank my blade inside and cut it out in a perfectly shaped square. It was perfection! No hesitation, no rounded edges, no tearing of this fine choice of prime slab. As I held it in my hand and let the juices flow between my fingers, and the heat warm my cold hand. I carefully placed it under my nose and let the aroma pass over my senses. It was at that moment, I could not wait any longer. I stuffed the slab into my gob. My perfectly cut, proportionally perfect slab into my disgusting and unclean mouth. It was heavenly... Not once have I had a Ribeye steak made this well!