MANY VEGANS DYING DAILY

This pig was raised specifically for my pleasure. If I cannot eat it, what do you propose I do with it? Not going to keep it as a pet - it's eight hundred pounds of sh*tting lard!

That isn't a conversation that actually took place. But it could have.
I was talking with some friends the other day, one of whom is involved in a passionate lust-relationship with a macro-biotic vegetarian. Which, it turns out, means that she has been subjected to brainwashing worse than the moonies were ever capable of.
She used to eat meat. Now, under his haranguing tutelage, she loves tofu.

Nothing wrong with tofu. But she's just as white as I am. What do white folks know about tofu?
I can remember very many years ago going on a first dinner date with an attractive vegetarian in Berkeley. She raved over the hardened beancurd lumps at the restaurant, why heavens they were delicious! Especially with the nearly flavourless all-natural hippie-made soy sauce substitute!
Mmmmmmm!

That was a relationship that didn't stand a chance. There was no second date.
Not after I informed the poor girl that the best thing to do with tofu was stuff thick wedges with ground pork and fish paste, wrap them in bacon, dip in egg-white and corn flour, and deep-fry golden.
Great as an hors d'oeuvre. Some hot sauce on the side. Yummy!

Just dumping thin slices of it into lukewarm safflower oil and turning it into mahogany jerky isn't cooking, but murder.

So when my friend started waxing poetic about the miracle that is tofu, I changed the subject.
There is no need to hear about more Caucasian torture of soy bean curd.
Let us talk of other things.
Why was she seeing the bio-loon? What had appealed to her about her current boyfriend?
Probably NOT his food preferences, but I didn't say that.
He never told her that thousands of vegans die every day.

Turns out he looked deliciously dangerous. So daring and risky, and she loved tattoos, they were such an individualistic expression.
Such a manly man! His ragged beard made him look romantic, like a pirate or a biker.

I've seen him. To me he looks halfway between a drugged-out juvenile delinquent and a pretendeur.
But I really shouldn't have asked the question in the first place, because she proceeded to compare me unfavourably.
Turns out I don't look dangerous. And my beard is far too clean.
A civilized appearance is not all that attractive.

Sweetie, have you ever seen pictures of the devil? Nice neat little beard, no? Just like mine.
And doesn't the standard illustration of Satan look precisely like a college professor? Well, except for the red face, the trident, and the nudity.
Dash, polish, poise.
I'll admit that I am NOT nude. Or red faced.
Other than that, the resemblance is striking.
I'm positively the riskiest man you can meet.

Both the devil and I are, apparently, too decent looking.
Something about good grooming is just evil.
Not very appealing at all.


And I don't have tattoos.


All in all, I consider myself lucky.
I have not sold my soul to the Macrobiotic One.
And I still get to eat all the fatty pork I need to make me happy.


At some point I'll make a nice pot of bacon - crab - sharkfin soup for a person who despises tattoos, has an intelligent sense of humour, and realizes that cleanliness can mask any amount of personal deviltude.
I'll throw in some tofu for texture.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================