Attempt to overpower his captors

As Duncan finishes getting dressed, he realizes that is only hope to survive this is to get away from his captors before they have an opportunity to sell him. As difficult as the prospect may be, he knows he stands a far better of chance of prevailing over Cassandra and her elderly parents than he would if he is handed over to someone who might be stronger.

He sits at the table and studies the meal set before him. It truly does look like scrotum. Duncan shudders, not knowing who has the worse fate: Alex for losing his ballsack, or himself for being offered the same for breakfast.

Gladys notices his discomfort and places a motherly hand on his arm. “What’s the matter, dear? You look like you’ve never had marinated genitals before! How do you prefer your scrotum? Fried? Breaded?”

“I prefer my scrotum attached and unmolested by flesh eaters, thank you very much,” retorts the young man.

Cassandra laughs dismissively and says, “Don’t worry... Your scrotum and its precious contents will remain right where they are, provided that you behave yourself. You’re much more valuable to us in one piece.”

Alex picks up his fork and makes a show of pushing the contents of his plate around. As hungry as he is, he can’t bring himself to take any part of Alex into his mouth — genitals or otherwise.

Seeing a knife on the table, he seizes on an idea. He nonchalantly reaches for the utensils and sets to work cutting his breakfast into smaller pieces. Even though he knows Alex is long dead, Duncan still feels sweat forming on his brow at the realization that he is performing posthumous surgery on something Alex no doubt treasured very much.

“You know the problem with these redheads?” asks Carl, digging at his mouth with a toothpick. “Not only do they tend to get stuck in my dentures, but they give me such a bad case of gas.” As if to illustrate his observation, he leans slightly to one side and releases an obnoxious blast of foul-smelling gas. “Now, that gal we had for my birthday last year.... I knew she wasn’t a natural blonde, because it wasn’t thirty minutes after swallowing her pancreas before I started inflating like a bloated satyr.”

After fully expelling the acrid emission from his bowel, Carl pushes back his chair and slowly rises to his feet. “I believe I’ll pay a visit to the loo. Young Alex here is threatening to make a rather explosive return.” His bowel grumbles menacingly, and as Carl shuffles to the door, his rear end announces his departure with several ear-piercing and nostril-offending eruptions.

Duncan sees his opportunity. Cassandra has her back to him, tending to something at the kitchen counter. Gladys is sopping up the last of the juices on her plate with a piece of bread. Duncan clutches the knife tightly in his fist and makes his decision.