It had been 7 months since I had been captured, and if I had to tell you I hated every moment of it, I would be lying. ISIS is full of ruthless killers, yes- Merciless, freedom hating bastards, certainly- Bad chefs? Hell fucking no. During the 220 days of capture, I have been served some of the finest meals a man can be exposed to. Between the waterboarding, the beating, the constant anti-American propaganda, my 3 square meals a day have been my escape into a world of culinary mastery.
Honestly, I have no clue who they have making these. Everyone i’ve met here has had little to no regard for human life, and would rather die than show sympathy to their enemy. Going by this pattern, I could assume that we would be fed some sort of thin sand-gruel. But we get, like, prime rib and shit. We got lobster once. Last night we had goddamn salads before our buffalo wings. I’ve GAINED weight since I started here. They have to be losing money doing this, there’s no way they can import these sorts of meals for free. It’s in such utter contrast from the rest of my treatment that at first I was SURE that it was a mistake- their top operative must have ordered this, and we got it by mistake, or maybe it was some cruel joke to advance our palette so the upcoming gruel would taste worse. But 7 fucking months in there has been no decrease in quality. If anything, it’s been getting better. After a beating, I overheard a guard ask us what we thought about the meals; most of us had nothing to complain about, as we thought that bringing it up at all would make them realize their mistake and give us the expected gruel. One of us, though, had the gall to call the fucking chicken dry. The guard grunted with acceptance and went back to his rounds, occasionally kicking us in the ribs. The next day, however, we had some lemon-pepper chicken that was absolutely amazing. They even gave us 10 more minutes to enjoy the meals, as if they were sorry yesterday’s meal wasn’t up to their standards.
I write all this because tomorrow they’re beheading me in one of their infamous videos. They asked me what I wanted before I die, and I think they actually got my mom to prepare some of my favorite quiche. I’m both horrified and impressed- they somehow convinced my mom to make these in less than a day and shipped them back here with a one day turnaround. They must have spent a fortune on shipping. They let me have all day in the dining hall, and even got me dessert. I saw a guy in a chefs uniform looking at me, as if he was expecting me to give him a thumbs up or something. Look, I know that he’s a psychopath terrorist that wants to see most of the world burn, but I had to give my compliments to the chef. I feel a variety of emotions over my execution- fear, dread, resentment, anguish, to name a few- but dissatisfaction wasn’t one of them.