Like my loafers? Former gophers!

One of my weekly luxuries is picking up the Sunday edition of the Observer newspaper and reading it while either relaxing in my room with some honey-sweetened camomile or peppermint tea, or, weather permitting, going to the park and sitting in the shade. There is a weekly travel section in the paper, and there was an article that immediately made me think of a disturbing episode in which Montgomery Burns plans to turns 25 greyhound puppies into an article of clothing for himself. He even has a song he sings during the episode, set to the tune of "Be Our Guest":

Some men hunt for sport, others hunt for food,
The only thing I'm hunting for is an outfit that looks good.
See my vest, see my vest, made from real gorilla chest,
Feel this sweater, there's no better than authentic Irish Setter.
See this hat? 'Twas my cat. My evening wear? Vampire bat.
These white slippers are albino African endangered rhino.
Grizzly bear underwear; turtles' necks, I've got my share.
Beret of poodle on my noodle it shall rest;
Try my red robin suit, it comes one breast or two,
See my vest, see my vest, see my vest![with hat and cane]
Like my loafers? Former gophers! It was that or skin my chauffers,
But a greyhound fur tuxedo would be best.
So let's prepare these dogs --
Woman: Kill two for matching clogs!
Burns: See my vest, see my vest, oh please, won't you see my vest?
[spoken] I really like the vest.

This newspaper article was about a birdwatcher who took a trip to a sanctuary in Trindidad, and she was describing some of the exotic birds she viewed there. As she listed her sighting, I was struck by a particularly Burns-esque moment concerning the "oilbirds". Here is a photo of these charming little creatures:





While writing this I've been wrestling with how to approach this part of the story. Should I go the comedy route? Should I try to make it as horrific as I found it when reading it initially? Honestly, since I cannot summon a description that is more matter-of-fact and chilling than than author, I'll simply reprint the relevent passage here:

They are called oilbirds because the chicks are so fat (at 70 days, they weigh 50 per cent more than the adults) that their bodies used to be used for lamp oil, or sometimes travellers would cut the heads off the chicks and then just light them and carry them round as torches.

Sweet. Zombie. Jesus. I cannot shake the image of people, like C. Montgomery Burns, ripping the heads off baby birds, lighting their bodies on fire, and using them to walk around at night. Wow.