I managed to slice off a sizeable chunk, like carving a raw joint, after lifting hair and scalp flap without pain.
No mess, no details, only wild curiosity. Then I cooked the brain meat. I didn’t clock the regulo.
The hot texture resembled overdone beef, except for an ugly bit presenting as nodules rather like stuffing though fattier.
Like coarse pate with an accent over the e. Or pate meaning bonce if you include my waking interpretation.
The texture was dry, friable or fried perhaps, so that when I parted it with a knife and fork prior to eating
it seemed to break into small strands. Pulled brain, if you like.
I tried a mouthful I think. No smell or taste. I think I couldn’t eat it. An overwhelming disgust put paid to that.
I patted down the bit of loose scalp and hair, sited to the right and back upon my skull, as if it were a new hairdo.
My head looked a bit dented, and I remarked upon that, quite nonchalant.
the theory of accidents 