I’ve been accused of being lots of things, but never a vegetarian. I mean, how could somebody limit themselves to such a joyless existence. The first person to see a mammoth or whatever it is and stab it with a pointy stick, set fire to it, and then feast upon its corpse was a fucking genius! Even that borderline transvestite thing that sings and dances likes meat enough to wear a full on meat suit.
I know I’ll be obese, red, out of breath, full of cholesterol, stink, angry and die when I’m 28, but that’s something I’m willing to accept.
It’s not as if I don’t like animals, I do! Love it when cows block the road so I can’t get to the bus, and every vaguely farmer like noise I try to make is greeted with a gormless stare, I love that. Just like I love coming downstairs in the morning to find a great big steaming shit in the middle of the kitchen, who wouldn’t want an animal companion when they keep giving these beautiful gifts!
My family are lucky we live in a mildly civilised country, that frown on eating family members. If I lived in Peru or one of those other third world countries then my parents would have been long gone, stir fried father, pumpkin and mother soup, I’d eat them all, and I wouldn’t stop. Actors, politicians, athletes, farmers, emergency service people, artists, bank managers, cashiers, fishermen and strippers. I’d eat you all (except for Madonna, you make me vomit you gristly tramp)
Now, I hope you all join me in putting on Rachmaninov’s Piano concerto No.2 in C minor, getting completely naked and covered in animal fat then flail around with the finest rolled topside of beef you can find. And don’t worry about the 10 minutes of self loathing afterwards, it’ll pass. Go on, treat yourself.