The Vegetarian Challenge
Life is crazy. I’m absolutely convinced.
I have to otherwise I also have to admit by default that I am, in fact, crazy. And I’m not ready to admit that about myself yet; at least not now. So let’s just go with life itself is crazy, shall we?
In the meantime I’m going to attempt the impossible. No, I’m not going to take up being more politically correct or something lame ass thing like that*. I’m going to try and give up meat and go the way of vegetarian.
That’s right! The neighborhood squirrels are safe once again.
I must be out of my fucking mind. I haven’t gone off the deep end so much as I dove in myself headfirst shackled to a big rock. The day I ever included eggplant on my weekly grocery list, or ever planned to eat – much less, prepare – anything called “Pasta E Fagoli” is the day I wedged my toe into the trigger of a 20. Caliber shotgun. I mean, eating anything that has the word “fag” in it is just asking for trouble if you ask me. I think I’m already faggy enough as it is doing downward dog poses to Judge Judy and polishing my spin shoes before bedtime. What next? Going for a Brazilian ass waxing so I can look good in my new Speedo’s? Before you know it I’m buying yoga pants off a guy named ‘Chas’ down at the local Spiritual Healing Center.
God, just shoot me now!
The idea is to try and drop another 10-15 lbs without mercilessly killing myself on a treadmill or drowning at the bottom of the deep end. Whoever would have suspected that I would ever get this far? My “training”, as I liken to call it, has literally consumed me at this point. And triathlon training is no easy business let me tell you! In fact, it goes very similar to something like this: swim, pedal, run, lift, sweat, hydrate, eat, shit, sleep, repeat.
But what else do I have to do with my days exactly? I have the social life of a fruit fly. And I don’t know about any of you dear readers but, if you let your guard down for even moment you’re likely to end up seated in front of Jerry Springer with a pint of ice cream and a hot dog. So keeping busy is definitely a positive.
But anyhoo!
Now, it’s already well documented about my feelings and opinions on the subjects of vegetarianism, vegans, and especially my beloved meat. And here I am just a mere broccoli floret away from becoming one myself. It will be interesting to learn how long I’ll be able to go before I go totally berserk and end up stabbing someone with a spork; or how long before cats and dogs suddenly turn into little pork chops in collars running through the streets; or worse yet, how long before an enormous crater is all that remains of my city block after I erupt with an atomic-sized fart after eating too much spicy Indian Red Bean & Chick Pea Casserole.
If I was dangerous before I’m absolutely lethal now!
Mind you, the plan is to last for only a TWO WEEK period before I decide to commit to any further lifestyle changes. So, no, I haven’t completely turned by back on the Brotherhood of Meat Eaters. It’s not so much of a radical change in diet so much as it is a hit-and-run attack on vegetarianism itself. Think of me like an undercover carnivorous ninja sent to infiltrate the enemy compound and gather as much intelligence as I can and get the fuck out again. And if a few innocent vegan lettuceheads end up with their throats slit in the shadows – oh well.
It’s strictly business you understand.
Yeah, that sounds much cooler.
But really, what’s the worse that can happen? I could stand to lose a few more pounds anyway. It’s not like my muscles are going to completely wither way and die…Popeye ate spinach after all, right? And I know Olive Oil wasn’t much to look at but at least Popeye was getting laid; and that’s more than I can currently say! I know carnivorous chicks haven’t exactly been too cooperative with me, so maybe if I'm lucky enough there's a chance then that the vegetarian babes will be a little more, shall we say, accommodating? Perhaps the lack of complex animal proteins in their fragile hippy systems will makes them more susceptible to freaky monkey sex. Well, I can keep my fingers crossed anyway.
After all ninja’s have needs too**.
It’s not my place in the universe to criticize the miraculous mysteries of nature and the very evolution of mankind. Hey, if a minute, insignificant lack of a particular amino acid, or super complex Beta vitamin, or something strange like that should result in lower inhibitions among New Age single women between the ages of, say, 24 and 40…then good for Terry!
I’ll be on that water chestnut like cheese on a low-sodium Triscuit.
It’s good to be a vegetarian! Hallelujah!
* Don’t worry, folks, there will be lots of Downs Syndrome porno and Polish crack baby jokes to come in the near future!
** It’s ironic thought that I may actually have to seek out a vegetarian to actually gargle my beef stick…but hey, as I said before: life is crazy.
I have to otherwise I also have to admit by default that I am, in fact, crazy. And I’m not ready to admit that about myself yet; at least not now. So let’s just go with life itself is crazy, shall we?
In the meantime I’m going to attempt the impossible. No, I’m not going to take up being more politically correct or something lame ass thing like that*. I’m going to try and give up meat and go the way of vegetarian.
That’s right! The neighborhood squirrels are safe once again.
I must be out of my fucking mind. I haven’t gone off the deep end so much as I dove in myself headfirst shackled to a big rock. The day I ever included eggplant on my weekly grocery list, or ever planned to eat – much less, prepare – anything called “Pasta E Fagoli” is the day I wedged my toe into the trigger of a 20. Caliber shotgun. I mean, eating anything that has the word “fag” in it is just asking for trouble if you ask me. I think I’m already faggy enough as it is doing downward dog poses to Judge Judy and polishing my spin shoes before bedtime. What next? Going for a Brazilian ass waxing so I can look good in my new Speedo’s? Before you know it I’m buying yoga pants off a guy named ‘Chas’ down at the local Spiritual Healing Center.
God, just shoot me now!
The idea is to try and drop another 10-15 lbs without mercilessly killing myself on a treadmill or drowning at the bottom of the deep end. Whoever would have suspected that I would ever get this far? My “training”, as I liken to call it, has literally consumed me at this point. And triathlon training is no easy business let me tell you! In fact, it goes very similar to something like this: swim, pedal, run, lift, sweat, hydrate, eat, shit, sleep, repeat.
But what else do I have to do with my days exactly? I have the social life of a fruit fly. And I don’t know about any of you dear readers but, if you let your guard down for even moment you’re likely to end up seated in front of Jerry Springer with a pint of ice cream and a hot dog. So keeping busy is definitely a positive.
But anyhoo!
Now, it’s already well documented about my feelings and opinions on the subjects of vegetarianism, vegans, and especially my beloved meat. And here I am just a mere broccoli floret away from becoming one myself. It will be interesting to learn how long I’ll be able to go before I go totally berserk and end up stabbing someone with a spork; or how long before cats and dogs suddenly turn into little pork chops in collars running through the streets; or worse yet, how long before an enormous crater is all that remains of my city block after I erupt with an atomic-sized fart after eating too much spicy Indian Red Bean & Chick Pea Casserole.
If I was dangerous before I’m absolutely lethal now!
Mind you, the plan is to last for only a TWO WEEK period before I decide to commit to any further lifestyle changes. So, no, I haven’t completely turned by back on the Brotherhood of Meat Eaters. It’s not so much of a radical change in diet so much as it is a hit-and-run attack on vegetarianism itself. Think of me like an undercover carnivorous ninja sent to infiltrate the enemy compound and gather as much intelligence as I can and get the fuck out again. And if a few innocent vegan lettuceheads end up with their throats slit in the shadows – oh well.
It’s strictly business you understand.
Yeah, that sounds much cooler.
But really, what’s the worse that can happen? I could stand to lose a few more pounds anyway. It’s not like my muscles are going to completely wither way and die…Popeye ate spinach after all, right? And I know Olive Oil wasn’t much to look at but at least Popeye was getting laid; and that’s more than I can currently say! I know carnivorous chicks haven’t exactly been too cooperative with me, so maybe if I'm lucky enough there's a chance then that the vegetarian babes will be a little more, shall we say, accommodating? Perhaps the lack of complex animal proteins in their fragile hippy systems will makes them more susceptible to freaky monkey sex. Well, I can keep my fingers crossed anyway.
After all ninja’s have needs too**.
It’s not my place in the universe to criticize the miraculous mysteries of nature and the very evolution of mankind. Hey, if a minute, insignificant lack of a particular amino acid, or super complex Beta vitamin, or something strange like that should result in lower inhibitions among New Age single women between the ages of, say, 24 and 40…then good for Terry!
I’ll be on that water chestnut like cheese on a low-sodium Triscuit.
It’s good to be a vegetarian! Hallelujah!
* Don’t worry, folks, there will be lots of Downs Syndrome porno and Polish crack baby jokes to come in the near future!
** It’s ironic thought that I may actually have to seek out a vegetarian to actually gargle my beef stick…but hey, as I said before: life is crazy.
