A decision that’s rather surreal—
The state senator made an appeal
To eliminate waste
That’s of questionable taste
The condemned get no choice of last meal
Lawrence Russell Brewer, who was executed Wednesday for the hate crime slaying of James Byrd Jr. more than a decade ago, asked for two chicken fried steaks, a triple-meat bacon cheeseburger, fried okra, a pound of barbecue, three fajitas, a meat lover’s pizza, a pint of ice cream and a slab of peanut butter fudge with crushed peanuts. Prison officials said Brewer didn’t eat any of it.
Gee, I wonder if something put him off his feed?
While extensive, Brewer’s request was far from the largest or most bizarre among the 475 Texas inmates put to death.
On Tuesday, prisoner Cleve Foster’s request included two fried chickens, French fries and a five-gallon (19-liter) bucket of peaches. He received a reprieve from the U.S. Supreme Court but none of his requested meal. He was on his way back to death row, at a prison about 45 miles east of Huntsville, at the time when his feast would have been served.
Last week, inmate Steven Woods’ request included two pounds of bacon, a large four-meat pizza, four fried chicken breasts, two drinks each of Mountain Dew, Pepsi, root beer and sweet tea, two pints of ice cream, five chicken fried steaks, two hamburgers with bacon, fries and a dozen garlic bread sticks with marinara on the side. Two hours later, he was executed.
Years ago, a Texas inmate even requested dirt for his final meal.
For the record, I hate, hate, hate the death penalty. The notion that the state can kill someone in my name (I take it personally; it’s my country and my state) is repulsive to me.
The idea of a last meal, though. I have one. It features multiple members of the pie family, from meat to fruit. But gee, now that a Texas state senator has decided that getting one special meal before they kill you is coddling, I guess I’ll just have to keep away from Texas, just in case I do something illegal there, like be an atheist.
What would your last meal be? Let’s assume you’re not on death row, but somehow know this is your last meal–or the last one you will appreciate. What’s on your menu?