AND THIS IS WHY YOUR FANGS ARE SHOWING

One of my friends keeps posting pictures of the scrumptious food he makes, another does lovely food porn showing what he's eating. Now, I like both gentlemen -- in fact I am extremely fond of them -- but neither one of them has ever messaged me to say "let's do lunch". Or anything.
So that is very irritating.

A coworker asked me the other day what I was going to cook for dinner.
And he naturally assumed that I would be eating by myself.
Just like he eats with his wife and kids.


I may have mumbled indistinctly about vegetables plus chili peppers and shrimp paste, or something like that.


See, the way it works is men of a mature age are meant to eat alone, far from the delicate sensibilities of younger people. That way we can growl and snap, belch, and scratch our stomachs. We will lift a glass of wine to ourselves, then rip a haunch off a wild animal that we hunted down and killed. We fought off the hyenas and vultures to drag the carcass back to our lair, across the wilds of Russian Hill and Nob Hill, and down the savage ravine of Pacific Avenue. We leave trails of blood wherever we go.

Women and wee children are scared of us.
Deservedly we dine by ourselves.
We have claws!



If it were up to me, the entire world would be drenched in chili pepper sauce and wrapped in bacon, then served steaming hot with anchovies.




Conversationally we are, of course, a disaster. We cannot stop mentioning politics, religion, and money at the dinner table, and then, like the vicar of Saint Michael's, inappropriately exclaiming "I like tits ..... particularly the little serving maid with great big knockers!"





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