Inure: Cause to accept or become hardened to, habituate. As in, [MOM AND THE FAINT OF HEART, DON’T READ THIS]
“Dmitri, it turned out, was remarkably adept at crafting life-like fingers, toes, and sexual organs from basic ingredients. He’d fashion frighteningly realistic severed thumbs—skin rudely shredded on one end, bone fragments made from leek white projecting from the wound—and we’d leave these things around for unsuspecting waiters and managers to find. A waiter would open a reach-in in the morning to find a leaking, torn fingertip, Band-Aid still attached, pinioned to a slice of Wonderbread with a frilled toothpick. ....
Eventually, when every member of the staff was thoroughly inured to the sight of a severed, fly-covered penis in the urinal, or finding a bloody finger in his apron pocket, we moved on to even greater atrocities.” —From Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, by Anthony Bourdain
I'm 2 for 2 on the gory illustrations lately, but I simply couldn’t pass this one up.