just talking ...

I don’t eat fully developed non-aquatic meat. So I am basically a veg, with fish, cheese, and eggs tossed in so that my male dominance has a place to be exercised. There’s a perverse joy in cracking open an egg, watching the unformed chicken turn opaque, and devouring the yoke as it drips off of toast all the while harboring this inner glow that I have saved a chicken from the horrors of commercial farming. In order to fully experience the moment, and avoid the harsh light of Socratic logic, I usually need to add distilled spirits to my coffee, this numbing my analytic abilities. That’s my reality: chronic inebriated narcissism. I think it might be a syndrome in Europe. Not sure. I should start a petition to get it recognized in DSM. It could be my legacy. Clyde’s Syndrome. We could get federal money to develop a fetal test for it. Liberal women could get abortions to avoid having kids like me. That’s an odd thought. “Don’t be a Clyde!” I could be a college course. There could be nervous expectations and hushed words shared about test results. “I have good news. You baby is not a Clyde,” followed by tears of joy. I think I may have something here.

In case you are wondering, here’s a helpful page with directions to roast an entire pig all at once. I have to throw up. brb.

I guess the legs are too long on a baby cow to cook the whole thing at once, so you to learn about the different cuts and how to cook those. Can I get a little “moo”?

This video is a bit over the top, but effective in seeing the worst practices. Mmm, good!

Want a funky (and free) email url such as yourname@DaddysBeenABadGirl.com? Sounds like a great coming-out present!

Need a custom warning label?



All for now ...