I'm not sure if I've already posted an earlier version of this. If I have, I think this one's a lot better.

Fixed
The victim woke up and felt cold. Very cold. Opened his eyes and almost had a heart attack when he realised he was in a bath-tub full of ice, in a dark room, almost lit by a dim, flickering light bulb.
‘Ahhhhh!’ he yelled as he gripped the edges of the tub and heaved himself up out of the melting ice.
He lifted up his shirt and breathed a sigh of relief. No bloody incisions giving easy access to his kidneys.
Then he thought, How come my legs weren’t sticking out the other end of the tub?
‘Ahhhhh!’ he yelled again. ‘My legs! Where’re my legs?’
Then he realised … his legs had been stolen and sold on the black-market!
But why? he thought. It wasn’t like he was some famous soccer player or dancer with super-legs that could be used to take over the world or anything.
Then he worked it out. It was the Mr T tattoo he’d gotten on his right calf when he was 17! Everyone had always been jealous of his Mr T tat!
‘Don’t be stupid!’ said the shady character standing over him, who he had somehow overlooked until this point in time. ‘It’s an appalling piece of work. The boss won’t be happy.’
‘What’dya want my legs for?’ the victim whined. ‘What’ve ya done with them?’
‘They’re safe. In the freezer.’
‘But what do you want them for?’
‘Frog’s legs. They’re a delicacy.’
‘I’m not a frog.’
‘No. But that can be overlooked. I’ll just say they’re from a Madagascan giant razor-toed leopard-eating tiger-frog.’
‘What?! And you think they’ll buy that? Everyone knows giant razor-toed leopard-eating tiger-frogs taste worse than a tuna McFlurry.’ said the victim. ‘That’s the most flawed plot I’ve ever heard of! And how did you know I was thinking about the tattoo before?’
‘Don’t blame me, blame the author,’ said the shady character.
‘What?’
‘The author! Don’t you realise this’s just a story?’
‘No,’ said the victim. ‘No-one told me!’
‘Um… they were supposed to.’
‘Well I reckon it’s a pretty poor effort at a story. And how come I haven’t bled to death yet if me legs’ve been cut off?
‘Oops, sorry,’ said the author and he went back and fixed it all.

‘Table six? Madagascan giant razor-toed leopard-eating tiger frog’s legs?’ said the waiter as she delivered the meal to the table.
‘Eau yes, zose are mine,’ said the customer. ‘I’ve heard zese taste bettair zan a tuna McFlurry!’
The waiter placed the dish in front of the customer, who squinted at a large spot on one leg. It looked a bit like Mr T.
Curiosity satisfied, she dug in.