I reread the document.  I couldn't accept that what I had read was what had been intended, but there it was:  do it yourself limb attachment.
 
"Did you come up with this?"  I asked the satyr as I returned the document to him.  "Reattaching limbs, you say?  I'll bet that's not the real idea, here."
 
"My dear basilisk, of course there could be many applications!  And someone in your position looking down on others for thinking of twisting circumstances to their own benefit?  That's precious."  
 
The satyr folded his hands behind his back, where they almost rested on the end of his perky goat tail.  He began pacing.  "I got the idea when I was watching someone glue back together a figurine," he said.  "I realized that yes, cutting and pasting out different parts would be quite the useful service to offer to the right buyer, if it could be done."
 
"Are you planning to use concrete?  Quick-dry cement?"  I looked over the vials and a sealed bucket he had with him:  several were a sort of silicone plaster; one was an anti-petrification stone-to-flesh salve that would cost more than two years of my salary.  "Surely you know that stuff won't change stone that has never been flesh into flesh?  A rock limb attached to a de-petrified body would fall off.  And I KNOW you are not interested in swapping out an arm."  I gestured to his crotch.  "Your desires are notorious.  Are you going to aim for 'horse-sized'?  Bigger than that?"  The last can was labeled 'Bio-Paste'.  "What's that?"
 
"It's been researched, evaluated, and evaluated again-an interesting find from the field, recently acquired.  It really is like a miracle adhesive for a variety of biological situations, but it's especially good for bone.  I came to you for this because it's not an authorized application.  'Horse-sized?'  Your quick accusations are adorable!  And revealing?  No, I'm quite happy with what I'm packing down there.  It's all up top."  The satyr caressed his small, nubby horns.  "I'd like a better rack."
 
I looked at him for a few moments.  He stopped looking back at some point, becoming an oblivious rock.  Petition shelved; I'd consider it later.