I love meat. It’s true, ever since I tried to stop eating meat, thats when I found it completely irresistible. When it comes to beef, I have no shame for my love of beef, steak, chili, or just good old fashioned hamburgers.
Whats more is I always love my beef cooked rare, I’m not sure how I came to this conclusion. I think it started with the observation of this cultures obsession with a fear of germs, and diseases, and how everything has to be sanitized, and cleaned beyond belief, and cooked so much that it has lost its flavor, and worse yet its as tough as leather.
A hundred years ago nobody gave a shit about these things: germs, bacteria, salmonella, it was all good, bring it on. But not today, its just a culture of neurotic pussies, scrubbing their hands every five minutes, shampooing their hair till it falls out and cooking the flavor out of all the food they eat.
Take a fucking chance people, whats the worst that can happen…????
Take the other day. I went to a bar with my friend for dinner. Think it was that Irish pub on fourteenth st just off eighth ave. My friend ordered a BLT and I ordered a cheeseburger, rare (how else?)
I was asked if was sure of the temp of the meat. I simply stood my ground and said “I know what I’m doing”. When the food came out I examined the burger and noticed the cheese was cheap and the meat looked like it had been cooked medium-rare or even medium.
However once I took a bite there was no mistaking, this bitch was bloody as hell, just the way i like it, and i began to rip into it like a savage. My friend shook her head in disbelieve as juice dripped all over the plate. What do you want me to say? Thats where all the fucking flavor is, why would I not want something as important as flavor?
At least thats what I am used to telling myself, but little did I know there was more than just flavor in this burger, for the next morning I was bouncing off the walls ready to take on the world. I was a force of nature to be reckoned with, I might as well have had on a cape on… until I walked out of the house. It wasn’t longer than a couple of seconds after walking off the stoop that I had hit a wall, and heard a record scratch. I began to feel something sort of like someone had turned on a faucet, in my bowels.
I wasn’t sure what was happening, or even did I suspect why, but I knew one thing for sure: I had to turn around and go spend some quality time with my toilet.
The 1st hour or was no biggie, I thought that maybe I had been a little “backed-up” and in need of relieving but as the afternoon progressed, my condition went from not-so-good, to a plummeting downward spiral that seemed to excel as time went on.
Before I knew it I found it hard to walk, and was soon bedridden throwing the rest of my day into limbo. Would I be able to see any of my customers, stop by the bank, or even get time to masterbate? These are the questions Mr. President.
Instead I found myself frantically dialing my friends for help. I was a mess, the house reeked of body oder, I wasn’t sure if I was going to shit out my vital organs or pass out in my own puke, and it was right then when things began to look like they might get a little out of control.
My vision became blurred, the room spun like a disco ball and I had no choice but to collapse on my bed and pass out. I think I slept, I’m not sure yet. All I know is when I awoke, it was dark outside. I could have been sleeping for a week. Just then my stomach rumbles and a wave of heat washes over me.
SO…..MUCH….HEAT……I take off my shirt, and now I am freezing, so I lay on my side in the fetal position praying for comfort. but it doesn’t come
I hope the pains in my stomach will stop…but they don’t
Instead, it feels as though someone has turned a pot of chili on high, and now its beginning to spill out, and don’t know which end its going to come out; my mouth or my asshole. All I do know is somehow, someway, I need to get myself to the bathroom.
So I stumble through the house, in the buff, and sit on the toilet and let mother nature do her business. I’m not sure what came out of me, but it made the ganges river look like evian water. I swear there was a struggle in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet with a trash can in front of me, shock waves of heat hit me from all angles. As the pain in me gully peaked I fell off the toilet and collapsed on the kitchen floor (bathroom is immediately next to the kitchen)
So there I was, squirming naked on the tiled floor, flopping around like a fish out of water, sweating uncontrollably, moaning in pain, just wanting it all to stop. I had no control, no choice, but to sit there and ride this out; and eventually it passes.
How long had I been there? Ten minutes, longer? That level of pain makes one minute seem like twenty. Finally I told myself to get up and clean myself off in the shower. Somehow I got back to bed, wrapping myself up in a blanket to sleep.
Several hours later there is a banging at the door. One of the friends I called during the middle of all the commotion had come to check up on me. They had been drinking but was still able to pull it together to nurse me back to health. They make me eat rice to settle my stomach, drink gatoraid to keep me hydrated and gave my midol for my fever.
The next morning things had settled. I was weak but I was alive, and I began to get my appetite back. My friend asked me what I wanted to eat. I look up, and with a smirk say “how bout a cheese burger?”.
A week later my friend made a T-Shirt for me. It had a picture on it with a caption above it which stated “I know what I’m doing”: famous last words.