You can call me Madame Mermac
or just Madame.

I run a human milk business. My husband Rollo is in charge kidnapping the women. I rule the roost once they are here. They are good women mostly. If they scream or cry too much we stick an apple in their mouth. If that doesn't shut them up I tell I am going to let the apple rot and drip a maggot on it daily. It's all electronic. The woman's feces is flushed into a basin were the flies lay larvae, then it is sifted for maggots which are delivered in payloads right over the woman's head. A tiny hole allows for one maggot to drip onto the apple at a time, one per minute in five minute increments. If the woman squirms the worm may land on the fleshy eyelid or the nostril. This is not my problem.
Every part of this process is used in our business. Dewormed feces is high standard fertilizer .003 for the crops that feed the women. The whole operation is entirely self sufficient so I don't have to shell out of my own pocket. To tell you the truth, I rake in the dough. Many school teachers, tuck pointers, accountants, and air port personnel consider human milk a delicacy to the taste buds and a nicotine patch to Oedipal syndrome. Yes, I'm acquiring quite a nest egg. Some day I'm going to retire to Florida and eat oranges by the truck load. There I'm going to live until I'm 114 years old. The precog guts of a garden snake said, " Long Live Madame Mermac." When the time to keel finally arrives, perhaps my dearly beloved worms will come upon me.