57 "Carrots," he murmured, karate-chopping the table.

Says:

"Carrots," he murmured, karate-chopping the table.

He never really had enjoyed having knives for hands, but at least it was bringing in a decent living. Being the head chef in the most expensive restaurant in all of New York wasn’t all bad.

It was just the carrots. He hated carrots. There were two things that he had always hated ever since that fateful day and those were Nazis and of course, carrots.

He hated their color. He hated their smell, their taste, their texture. He just couldn’t stand it. He finished with the carrots he was chopping with his knive-hands and scooped them into the pot.

“Order for carrots a la mode,” came a cry through the door.

A fire filled the knive-handed man’s eyes and he let out a cry. It was that night that he decided not to karate chop carrots with his sharp metallic vestiges. He decided to karate chop humans.