"If any of you plan to hunt me down and cannibalize me, please make sure to cook me up in a nice rogan josh."
QWP (from a friends-locked post)
context regards imagined fate of one particular inhabitant of a sheep transporting lorry she passed (to which she gave the title "poor sheep" after it gave her what she thought a pitiful look) along with her desires, no, make that cravings, for good, proper curry:
. . . one cooked in a dark, tarnished old balti dish. One where you get that lovely orange oil collecting in pools on the top.
I bet that sheep would be a happy sheep if he could be guaranteed that his death would be accompanied by a huge, golden garlic nann, and a pile of pappadams and lime pickle and raita.
poor sheep, indeed!