I rarely eat red meat …

and it isn’t because I am a vegetarian.  I like the way animals taste and expect, due to this statement, to have PETA camped out on my porch tomorrow morning.

That is ok, though, for they can deal with the Opossum that shows up nightly to partake in the leftover cat food on my porch railing.

It should be interesting to see their faces when it bears its razor sharp teeth and hisses at them.  I expect nothing more than hearts and flowers for the possibly rabid and intrinsicly rodent beast, complete with pointed snout and long, rat-on-steroids-tail.

Hearts and flowers.  Smiles and kisses.  As if.

I could elaborate on a larger scale, but it would take numerous blog posts to  enunciate adequately  the pure and simple BS  of the PETA train.

(rolling my eyes to the point of blindness)

But I digress.

As I was saying, I eat red meat rarely because I live in a farm town and I see the way cows live.  They aren’t the artistic and dreamily depicted  black and white novelties that so many people picture them as.

They are nasty, with a capital N and quite likely, second only to sheep, the most stupid animal alive on the planet today.

They poop on themselves and each other and are perfectly happy with that arrangement.

Sick.  On Many levels.

Pigs are fair game. I hate them and their uncanny ability to rationalize and therefore take great pleasure in eating them.

Smart, intimidating, people chasing beasts.  They deserve to be eaten.

But I’m not talking about pigs or chickens or other things, but of cows.

I eat them, not necessarily because I like them, but because I crave them.  I tend, on occasion, because I’m busy doing other things, too manic to remember or too depressed to care one way or the other to remember (I know, right?) to eat.

So I don’t.

Eat, that is.

And I become anemic.

Severely so.

Anyone who has been anemic can attest to the fact that they could suck blood right out of a human and while this makes me nauseous on the “blood in my mouth” horror level, I can understand it.

We don’t really, at least the most normal of the crazy people, suck actual people’s blood, but the thought, while errant, is out there.

Or maybe I have opened Pandora’s box and now have innocently and  inadvertently flagged  multiple people on the FBI’s most wanted list.

Oops.

Sorry about that.  A slip of the tongue.

I am not a murderer, or I would consider sucking the blood out of humans, but even crazy people have their standards.  I draw the line at murdering humans. (FBI, take note of this, please, and take me off of your ten most wanted list).

I decide, instead, to eat steak, cooked rare, and enjoy it with a vigor that only a Viking could understand.

It goes against nearly everything that I normally hold on the pedestal level, but a craving is a craving and I find it more satisfying to eat a barely cooked piece of steak than being in the interrogation room because somebody thought I became a member of the True Blood crowd.

I am much to squeamish for that, but dead and grilled cow … I have no qualms.

Have a good weekend everyone, especially now that thoughts y0u could have gone your entire life without thinking, those being cows, vampires and sucking blood, have been painted in your brain.

I am so glad I could contribute to your teetering instability.  Welcome, I say with gusto, to my world.

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