November 04, 2005

she don't eat meat but she sure like the bone... well, not really

The topic of my veggie-ism came up more than once this week. Fortunately, in all instances it was a very matter-of-fact discussion where I didn't have to defend or qualify my choice of diet. This was a pleasant change of pace from the usual, tired rigmarole where I'm subjected to the following reaction(s) when people find out I don't eat the meat:

1) Horror. Apparently, admitting to a preference for soy products is on the same level as saying you like to charbroil babies or something.

2) Incredulity. This is when I'm met with a litany of questions along the lines of, "Oh my God! Don't you ever want a big, rare, juicy steak?" or "But what about bacon?!"

As I respond with a firm "Nope" to each cut, brand and style of meat thrown at me, their persistence, bewilderment and agitation grows. I don't know why they care so much that I don't like it. My not eating it means more bloody filet mignon for them!

You know, meat-eaters are SO quick to bitch about the tree-hugging, crunchy types who bandy about terms like "murder" and "tortured soul" while lecturing them and thrusting literature with images of depressed-looking cows and chickens in their faces. What they put me through is just as invasive and obnoxious, if you ask moi. I don't proselytize so I'd thank everyone to kindly fuck off and leave me be with my Boca Burgers.

So help me God, the next carnivore who subjects me to this form of interrogation will be dislodging large amounts of extra-firm tofu from his/her ass. Seriously, whoever it is will be pooping undigested Tofu Pups for the foreseeable future.

Now, in case you haven't already jumped to the rather obvious conclusion, I ain't all that fond of the fur neither. I don't talk about it all that much because my preferred form of protest is to just not wear it... and um, passive-aggressively give dirty looks to people who do.

I've since learned to not get into the fur debate with people. It's a waste of time, in my experience. Like, some of the people who take me to task don't even dig fur themselves but they just like to take the piss out of animal-lovers or people with causes in general. Forgive me but I have better things to do with my time than engage in non-arguments with these annoying people. For example, I have a shower that needs grouting and some spices that need alphabetizing right after I clean the lint out of my belly button.

Some people I know in the pro-fur camp are really persistent and always try to goad me into an argument. My aunt was one of these people. However, after our last altercation, she gave up. Was it my superior debate skills that won the argument? No. A commanding knowledge of statistics and facts and figures that furthered my cause? Oh, fuck no.

It was dog spunk that came to my aid. Yes, I said dog spunk.

You see, my aunt loved to tease me by flaunting her long, brown fur coat in my face. One day she made like a matador and waved it at me menacingly. I didn't take the bait but, um, apparently all that moving and swaying of the brown fur got her rather randy mutt, Bruiser, a bit excited.

So, as the mink was dangling from my aunt's arm, the dog took a running leap and mounted the coat with the greatest of ease. My aunt tried shaking Bruiser loose and wrestling her fancy coat back from his vice-like leg grip but that wee fella held tight and humped his way clear through to a happy ending.

Yup, he left a sizable souvenir on the fur that required treatment by a professional dry cleaner. Needless to say, the aunt never resumed the debate.

The first moral of this story: Anyone guilty of harassing this here vegetarian is subject to a violent anal application of soy.

Moral numero dos: Don't tease anti-fur activists in the presence of pooch who isn't fixed. For if you do, you run the risk of turning your pricey prized possession into a doggie sex swing.

The End.