Wait a minute—
“I say, old chap, could you explain something to me?”
“I suppose.”
“You see, well, it’s just—this wall we’re building. Of raw meat. The flensed cow-carcasses and such. It’s not I’m complaining, no, of course not, far from it, but it’s such an odd thing to be doing.”
“You want to know why we’re building this wall of raw meat.”
“Bingo! Hit it in one.”
“Well, the tigers, of course.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. The tigers.”
“It’s to keep us safe from the tigers.”
“You know, now the you mention it, I believe I’d heard something to that effect. All part of the initiative, right? Like the duct tape and the surveillance and the torture and that ridiculous television program. Of course. The wall of raw meat. Capital.”
“Well, do you see any tigers around hereabouts?”
“Do you know, I think I have? Why, one carried off poor Maybelline just yesterday. Stacking some butchered pigs on the south side, and it just swooped out of the jungle and with one gulp— Terrible thing. And one does hear them prowling about out there, roaring now and again, much more than one ever used to! Doesn’t one?”
“Precisely! So hadn’t you better keep building this bloody damn wall?”
Hmmmm. Meat.
Wait. Is there a metaphoric element that I’m missing here?