Meat Superstar
Seriously, what was I thinking when I was a vegetarian? I've only been a bonafide omnivore for a little over a month, and already my love of meat products has gotten me some prestige in the SF foodie community.
Mission Mission recently hosted a competition to see who had the best meat story. Everyone's favorite indie rock butcher, Ryan Farr, was the judge. And I won that shit. My prize is a 4505 Meats shirt, but I hope Ryan will consider sending me a poster instead because classic American Apparel tees make me look like I should be shopping at Home Depot with my wife and our adopted Vietnamese baby, if you catch my drift.
Anyway, here's my story! And I recommend you get off your ass and try some of these Chicarrones!!! Also, those shirts are mega cute if you don't have a waist and boobs. And also, the girl in that pic on Mission Mission is not me. Not even a little bit me.
Easy. I’ve been a vegetarian for fourteen years, but every time my friend Alli and I get drunk at Elixir (which is less and less now, thank you douchebags) she tries to shove chicharrones down my throat. She has actually held them to my lips, gently applying pressure, while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with a group of new friends, because, as far as her logic goes, I will have to open my mouth sometimes.
Yes, we turn into eight-year-olds when we drink.
Anyway, I recently decided to give in and eat the meat, although slowly so I don’t puke and poop at the same time. I have had a few bites of prosciutto here and there, and the other night I stepped into Elixir (filled with d-bags, to the brim), and Alli was there. She looked H-A-P-P-Y-D-R-U-N-K and exclaimed, “Close your eyes and open your mouth!”
Under normal circumstances, I would have given her a dead leg, but I knew where we were and what was coming. I obliged, and had my third intentional experience with meat to-date. Although I’m not sure if chicarrones are meat. I mean, I know they are meat-based, but do they qualify as meat? I don’t know.
Mission Mission recently hosted a competition to see who had the best meat story. Everyone's favorite indie rock butcher, Ryan Farr, was the judge. And I won that shit. My prize is a 4505 Meats shirt, but I hope Ryan will consider sending me a poster instead because classic American Apparel tees make me look like I should be shopping at Home Depot with my wife and our adopted Vietnamese baby, if you catch my drift.
Anyway, here's my story! And I recommend you get off your ass and try some of these Chicarrones!!! Also, those shirts are mega cute if you don't have a waist and boobs. And also, the girl in that pic on Mission Mission is not me. Not even a little bit me.
Easy. I’ve been a vegetarian for fourteen years, but every time my friend Alli and I get drunk at Elixir (which is less and less now, thank you douchebags) she tries to shove chicharrones down my throat. She has actually held them to my lips, gently applying pressure, while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with a group of new friends, because, as far as her logic goes, I will have to open my mouth sometimes.
Yes, we turn into eight-year-olds when we drink.
Anyway, I recently decided to give in and eat the meat, although slowly so I don’t puke and poop at the same time. I have had a few bites of prosciutto here and there, and the other night I stepped into Elixir (filled with d-bags, to the brim), and Alli was there. She looked H-A-P-P-Y-D-R-U-N-K and exclaimed, “Close your eyes and open your mouth!”
Under normal circumstances, I would have given her a dead leg, but I knew where we were and what was coming. I obliged, and had my third intentional experience with meat to-date. Although I’m not sure if chicarrones are meat. I mean, I know they are meat-based, but do they qualify as meat? I don’t know.
posted by Melanie Kameko at
5:37 PM
1 Comments:
Hah! the eight-year-old jokes made me laugh the hardest. Puke and poop at the same time! This is definitely one of those jokes that you make and is funny, and I try to use it under less than optimal circumstances (departmental dinner, maybe) and it doesn't go so well. Then you're never there to back me up when it goes awry!
Actually, if you were there you'd probably do whatever you could to make it as embarrassing as possible.
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