A cafeteria-style ramble

Dear Peeps,

Marshmallows are not vegan. Remember that the next time you're camping cuz that s'more between your sticky little fingers is contributing to not only the slaughter, dismemberment and rendering of our highly sociable, fairly large-brained, fellow mammals, but also their idyllic, grazing-on-endless-rolling-green-pasture, pastoral pre-death existence. Well, okay. I'll give you that such a life doesn't sound all together bad but if you'll just allow me a moment to quickly google “peta beef talking points”

...

Ah yes! The crowded feed lots. You must not forget the feed lots! Remember how crappy the cafeteria lunch was in high school? Recall being herded to the chow trough where we were only offered food which we could not digest properly for apparently the sole reason of fattening us up on the cheap? Remember the crowded, stressful and volatile conditions, being forced into close quarters with countless others from disparate social groups, left to fend for ourselves within a suddenly unfamiliar and unknowable pecking order. Remember how it felt for you?

Okay so the chicken patties and pizza rectangles were pretty tasty and you didn't have to wallow in a communal mix of feces and mud, at least not literally (unless you were public schooled you poor bastard) and the fetid stench of death didn't waft through your nostrils when the wind blew wrong (except for that one time Ms Bigowsky's ferret some how got stuck in the oven vent over homecoming weekend... and I s'pose during fetal pig dissection week in freshman bio... or, again, unless you were public schooled you poor bastard). But no analogy rings true on all levels.

What the hell was my point anyway? Ah yes. Next time you're camping try substituting a nice juicy cube of tofu for the marshmallow in your s'more and enjoy your treat with a clean conscience, of course conveniently ignoring the fact that millions of field-dwelling animals are massacred during each soybean harvest. But I mean, c'mon. It's not like you were drivin' the tractor. (Gourmet hint: Non-silken tofu which has been frozen, thawed, microwaved and pressed dry is the most easily toastable. Extra chocolate is strongly encouraged. Enjoy!)

If you'll permit me to switch gears without engaging the clutch, a new acquaintance of mine (whose laugh is as lovely as she is, sigh...) recently paid both a parking ticket and a speeding ticket at the same time. I think that about covers the spectrum of vehicular penalties, doesn't it? You're fined when your car is sitting perfectly still while you're no where near it and you're fined when your car is going as fast as possible while you're gripping the wheel for dear life. They gotcha comin' and they gotcha goin', or not goin' as the case maybe.

Grind-grind-grind ka-chunk! Ya know the BNL song that goes, “if I had a million dollars I'd buy you a green dress but not a real green dress cuz that's cruel”? Well, if I had a million dollars I'd probably buy you that used green fan boat sitting for sale beside the I-80 westbound lanes near mile-marker 266 (Iowa).

Okay if it was only a million I probably wouldn't spend a dime on you unless you had a great sob story or gorgeous, cascading hair. I mean let's face it. We really hardly know each other. If I gave you a used green fan boat how do I know you wouldn't go right out and use it to run meth across state lines for Carlos from Burlington (cuz fan boats are sooo stealthy).

Granted there is a good buck in that racket, especially since Iowa meth is primo. So I've heard. It must be all that high quality ammonia fertilizer we have sitting around here. Let's see. What's worse: Spraying it on all the “fields of dreams” so it can leach into the ground water or run off into tributaries of the Ol' Miss eventually settling in the “as seen from space!” dead-zone of that great river's silt-bed delta? -OR- Covertly and dangerously manufacturing an intensely addictive illegal drug which results in, yeah sure okay, risk of prison or death by DUI, highly questionable sexual decisions, a sunken, leathery complexion coupled with patchy hair loss and ultimately destroyed youth, but also some real fun times?! My dear reader, the answer's obvious if you've ever eaten really good blackened Cajun river catfish. It's to die for!

I'll say no more, since my chunk o' Ciabatta and mug of double-brewed French roast (home-baked and home-brewed respectively lest you think I'm posting from some sickeningly pretentious coffee house) are about gone. But let me leave you with this admonition: Beware the impending alien invasion for I have it on good authority that only “hardcore meth/tofu addicts currently in drug/soy induced coma-like states and their pretty, new, oft-ticketed girlfriends will be spared Supreme Commander Zark's rath [sic]!”

Take good care heathens,
Parochial school prig