The Meat Papers
[aka: a break from Axl]
You were forewarned: there would be some non-W.A.R. related stuff here.
*This exchange took place on July 29, 2005. First you will read my letter to ground beef. Following is Hamburger Meat's heartfelt response, penned by my pal Mel.
Dear Hamburger Meat,
I am sorry to have to do this, but I think we need some time apart. I know you've been there for me for so many years, but I really think it's time to move on. After seeing you last night in my toilet bowl, after a half an hour of nausea from your undercooked-ness and whatever parasites you may have been carrying, it occurred to me: we're moving in opposite directions. Last night, you were clearly moving up, while I wanted so badly for you to stay down. It finally took me popping a blood vessel in my eye from all the retching to realize that this is just not meant to be.
It's not you, it's me. We've had a lot of good times - you let me eat you in secret while maintaining a facade of vegetarianism so that I could keep my vegan friends happy. You were there on roadtrips, at concerts, at late night burger-fests. You even managed to stay in my life during that 2-day stint in Toronto with Jeff. We've been through everything together - patty melts, North End burgers, South End burgers, mushroom melts, and even steak tartar at that Ethiopian place (yes, you were hot naked). But let's not let the good times we shared cloud the reality that is the essence of us: we're moving farther and farther apart.
Don't cry, Hamburger - I'll always have a special place in my heart for you. Every time my dad throws a veggie burger on the grill, I'll always wonder, "What could have been?" But for now, Darling, I need some time to regroup, some time to reintroduce myself to my old friends - Mushroom, Soy, and Tofu. I'll still see you in passing and have fond thoughts, but I think this time apart will do us good.
Maybe there will be a chance for us, someday, but I don't want us to dwell on that. Find a nice girl - a Viking, perhaps, or a Southerner - someone who really appreciates you for who you are and doesn't want to change you. I wish I could say I'm the one for you, but I think it's obvious I'm not. We're too different: I like Radiohead and you like Kenny Chesney. I like Jon Stewart, you like John Wayne. I like ketchup, you love mustard. Let's let bygones be bygones. The world is our oyster, Hamburger; let's shuck the heck out of it.
With tenderness,
KB
Dear KB,
I think I take offense to that.
Kenny Chesney prefers fried chicken. John Wayne ate buffalo. A hamburger is more the tastes of your cute little indie rock boys that aren't as pretentious as the vegan ones. The cute little ones you really desire, the ones who (like you) have a disdain for Daddy's money and long to subsist on the greasy goodness found on the grills of such dive establishments as Bukowski's and Charlie's.
Come on, you really think I dig listening to Moby and Coldplay? I wouldn't want those overexposed pipsqueaks to enjoy the succulent tastes that I have to offer. What else was I going to do with my life besides offer the world a tasty snack in medium well form (mainly because anyone that doesnt eat their burgers medium well should have their heads examined. Cook me!). If I could find a cure for cancer, get Bush impeached, or prevent Britney Spears from having babies, of course I would. Unfortunately, for now I am but a mere cow and the only thing I look forward to is finding out how I am prepared in the after life.
And what sort of friend were you? I've provided sustenance for centuries and you know you enjoyed sinking your teeth into my carnivorous goodness. Ah, but your pretentious veggie friends could never see. You couldn't pretend to do this radical bit if you enjoyed a bacon & swiss burger now, could you? Its a lot like when Ryan first arrived in Newport and Marissa wouldn't give up her relationship with Luke because he was a more dignified suitor. Of course, he had to slum it with her in the end when all of his friends dissed him because his father was gay.
See? Vegans are much like those popular people in school that you just want to be like, but know you're not. They're also willing to diss you if something bad came out, because owning DVDs of The O.C. and the soundtrack to "On the Line" is pretty much the equivalent of having a gay parent in Newport. And if you're really as liberal as you claim you are, would you really want friends like that?
Oh, KB. Perhaps they made me too rare last night. Or maybe you drank too much (it's not as if you NEVER do that). Like everything in life, we cannot all be perfect. Getting cooked or marinated improperly is much like being a Scientologist. You can't tenderize meats with vitamins, can you?
NO! I always laugh at how you flip back and forth about what is right and wrong (or cool and uncool) oh so easily. Because I know that you always come crawling back to me.
However, enough is enough. I don't want your friendship if it's only on your terms. I hate the South and I've never been to Norway and I find your liberal, open-minded viewpoint appalling. Why would I want you to enjoy my meaty goodness when you spend your time denying my existence in your life or speaking about how you shouldn't enjoy me. It's a lot like Whitney Houston telling Barbara Walters that crack is whack, isnt it? She wanted the viewers to think that she was over that part of her life, when she really was speaking of her addiction as something she loved more than putting corn rows in Bobbi Kristina's hair.
Well this bag of ground beef wants to dance with someone that loves me. Someone like Benjamin McKenzie, that Texas-bred boy just loves piling me up with ketchup and onions and biting down. Something of which I can assure you, will never happen to the likes of your wannabe vegan butt. Jon Stewart adores me without cheese, but your brand of wannabe original politics ain't kosher. And we all know Richard Chamberlain prefers the meat.
You think Kevin Costner is going to serve you up some curried tofu if you snuck into his Montana ranch? I don't think so, Sweetheart.
I can understand if you had religious issues that barred you from enjoying my awesome angus-ness, but babe, you're Catholic and your parents wrapped you in proscuitto as a child. And that was no exotic doll they gave you to sleep with. That was 1.5 pounds of pure Italian sausage with a curly blonde wig on top.
So you may think you're being different. You may think youre being cool. I know you'll want to meet up again in the near future, but I'm not coming back. Getting stuck in your poser belly is the last thing this USDA prime cut wants to do.
Besides, you're technically still employed at Starbucks, capitalist America at its worst. That's nice you offer the choice of free trade coffee now, but really too little and too late. It's a wonderful thing to see all of your people at work in the same conglomerate (oooops, I meant "neighborhood coffee emporium"), you know fighting the system and believing in PETA. Ha! I almost spit out my cud and grass smoothie thinking of you hawking mocha lattes and Norah Jones CDs.
Yeah. And the other day I was in Jersey, sitting on the table in front of Bruce Springsteen and he wanted me to tell you that only meateaters (aka tramps like him) are born to run. So you can take your Gardenburger and hang out with Lauren Bush. I'm hanging with The Boss now.
Think of me the next time you complain how broke you are and then shop at Whole Foods. You know, in the frozen food aisle when you pick up some meatless sausage links. Because if being a carnivore was so nasty, vegans wouldnt be making things out of soy to simulate what I am naturally.
Which makes dining on soy burgers a rather phony act. It's not like I would expect anyone who worked at Starbucks to be phony now, would I?
Good riddance,
Hamburger Meat
[Photo courtesy of: http://www.diabete-abd.be/obesite_la_folie.htm]
Bite the Hand that Feeds
