Homeless shelters and food banks have suffered severe shortages due to the breadth and depth of the damage the financial sector has caused, but now they are part of the solution.
It began innocently enough when a former autoworker went outside the homeless shelter near Battery Park for a smoke. A Lincoln Town Car stopped at the curb, the rear window rolled down, and the man inside, mistaking him for a drug dealer, asked him for cocaine.
The autoworker immediately recognized him as the president of the bank that foreclosed his home. He pulled him out the window of his Town Car, and beat him to death with a nearby newsrack.
The other residents heard the scuffle, came out, and before the driver or the autoworker could explain who he was, carried the bank president's body to the kitchen and placed him on a food preparation table to render aid, not knowing that he was already dead.
The driver of the car asked if he could retrieve back pay he was owed from the deceased's wallet. While he was retrieving it, the driver remarked about what a cheap asshole the bank president had been, and once the autoworker told them who the dead man was, they attacked the body and tore it to shreds.
They then use a recently donated meat grinder to make hamburger out of the bank president and fed him to the shelter residents.
The driver stayed for lunch and made a generous donation to the shelter. Some worried residents asked if anyone would miss the exec or probe too deeply into his death. The driver laughed and said his trophy wife wouldn't ask too many questions while she was shtupping cabana boys with the money she'd inherit. He said he doubted anyone would shed too many tears over any other Wall Street parasite for that matter.
This gave one of the residents an idea: he worked as a bike messenger on Wall Street, so he knew many of executives and bankers by sight and name, and could point them out on the street.
Several of the residents followed him in the shelter's van, and when the messenger pointed out a hedge fund manager standing on the street, talking into his blue tooth headset, they jumped out, tackled him to the ground, and tried to drag the struggling exec back to the van. Passers by asked what was going on, and when the shelter residents told them, they attacked the exec too, leaving the shelter residents with nothing to show for their efforts but an ear, nose, blue tooth headset, and sphincter.
They knew that they would have to collect their food in more private settings to avoid setting off another gleeful melee, so they began to pose as prostitute, drug addicts, housekeepers and the like.
Some thought it would be better to bring the execs back to the shelter alive, and slaughter them there as needed, but mothers quickly vetoed the idea. "We have impressionable children here, I don't want them exposed to those kind of people."
As news of the project quietly spread, they didn't even have to go out to collect anymore. Neglected trophy wives, mistresses, and even the children of the execs would drop off their carcasses, and usually apologize that they didn't have more to give.
When the head of the shelter was asked if the police were aware of what they were doing, she said, "Oh, yes, and they have been ever so helpful. They'll pull them over on some pretense like a burned out taillight, taser them to death, then throw them in the trunk. When the trunk gets full, they drop them off."
The shelter's thrift shop has also done a brisk business selling their suits, attaches, laptops, and cell phones. Ironically enough, word of the barely used high quality goods attracts some execs to the thrift store, where they are quickly dispatched to the kitchen.
Some at the shelter have expressed concern about eating the meat and serving it to their children. "A lot of these guys do drugs and have male prostitutes re-enact Deliverance with them," one mother said. "How do I know they won't give my kid some disease?"
Others are concerned that the brain tumors and cancer caused by heavy cell phone use may have infected the rest of the meat. "We cracked open one guy's head, and it looked like a tar bucket in there. We were so disgusted, we only ate his feet."
The executives hands have proven to be a popular delicacy since they are so tender from never being used for manual labor.
Surprisingly, the shelter's managers isn't concerned about depleting the population of financiers and scammers feeding her clients.
"I just read about them doing this during the financial crisis in Korea and the more bankers, brokers, and hedge fund managers they ate, the more the economy seemed to correct itself, and they had fewer impoverished clients at shelters to feed."
None of those involved in acquiring the self-described "masters of the universe" for the special of the day, expressed any moral qualms about what they were doing. "This guy we're eating here," one said, waving a bun full of sloppy joes, "He figured out a way that health insurance companies could claim a kid with cancer had a pre-existing genetic condition and cancel the whole family's policy. He got an $80 million bonus for that. My only regret is that we have to eat these guys instead of take them down and leave them to rot to the moral filth they really are."
"Hey, it could be worse," another resident shouted, "We could be eating the politicians that let them do all that shit."