Inebriation by Meat

Protein intoxicated, meat drunk, beef happy. What?

Beef happy was unacceptable. It's the meat talking.

"Randy, I AM the meat."

I love cows. LOVE em'. I think they're adorable & serene, harmless creatures that can be put to good use aside from being topped with a pretty pickle & served as a trucker's lunch.

But like a pig on a spit, I'd bite it's ass right off in a carnal thirst for blood. Watch it, Wilbur.

If you were raised a carnivore, chances are you are instinctively a carnivore. Don't argue it.

But for the past year, a different type of reaction has started to take place.

I cannot finish one cut nor type of meat without feeling seriously grossed out sick right in the midst of eating these things.

When nearly every experience is a bad one, it may actually be time to quit meat. Which is INSANE to me, regarding myself. I didn't even just say that. All in your meat drunk mind.

How about just going out to the garden & biting the head off a celery when you know the same shits gonna happen when you try to eat a cheeseburger.

The one you crave every once in a while, but don't even fucking know why.

Because your parents raised you on meat & you're now a psychotic, blood-thirsty vampire, that's why.

Maybe the celery would satisfy if it bled from it's ears (I don't think celery has ears, but corn does), but bleeding vegetables in a possessed garden is another subject for another time & place.

And I am now shitfaced on 100 proof meatballs, and I'm really not so fucking beef happy about it.