RAW MEN

“I eat raw men,” said the cannibal, sneering at the Ramen princess.  He had been invited to the Ramen convention by mistake.  As the diplomat of the cannibals he was the most well mannered, but this was not saying much.
“So do I,” said the princess
“Do you really?” The cannibal was surprised, and somewhat irritated at the young girl’s nonchalance.
“Yes I love ramen. My mother makes it all the time.” 
“It hardly takes much making, raw men.” The cannibal snorted.  If he couldn’t frighten her, maybe he could offend her. 
“Well I take that as an insult.” The Princess glared.  She was too young to understand that diplomats should be beneath her.
“It's not an insult but fact.”  The cannibal cackled.  Standing on her feet and pounding the table, the princess said, 
“Lies. Ramen takes a lot of work to make.”  The cannibal giggled. What he was trying to achieve, who knows, but he seemed to be quite satisfied. 
“Raw men are hard to catch but easy to make.”   
“You don't catch ramen.”  The princess laughed. 
“Well the how do you get it?”  The cannibal leaned forward, no longer laughing.  Could she have superior tactics?  Was this prissy kingdom a threat to his tribe? 
“Why, you cook it.”  The Princess frowned, eyeing the cannibal with suspicion.  He barked. 
“Idiot. Then it's not raw.”  Forgetting her status, the Princess stomped her feet and said,
“You’re the idiot. You want raw ramen?” 
“What are Raw raw men? I want raw men, just plain raw men.”  The cannibal was fairly sure the Princess was missing some mass between the ears at this point but he wondered if perhaps her mother did know something about catching raw men.  This was after all, the home of the Raw Men convention.  He didn’t think that the old Japanese knitting ladies looked like the type to enjoy such fierce food, but he was not the type to be prejudiced.  Everyone tasted the same deep fried. 
“Mother has the best ramen.”  The Princess smoothed her hair.  It was in the small tight dreadlocks known as the Ramen-do, that only royalty of the Ramen kingdom could wear.   
“Where does your mother get her men?”  The Cannibal asked, as the Ramen Queen approached her daughter, wondering why she was speaking so loudly to such a heathen.  The Princess spluttered. 
“That's very bad manners. I'm not speaking to you anymore.”  
“I don’t understand.”  The cannibal frowned.  He thought it a very reasonable question.
“Mother.  He is asking where you get your men.”  The princess said.  The Ramen Queen gasped.  She took her daughter by the hand and dragged her off to the old Japanese knitting ladies.  Then, the ramen Queen said "I want to give him the death penalty."  The cannibal cried,
“But I don't understand at all. No not at all.”