Sift the tuna from the brine, it’s smile time ; add some mayo to the flakes, shake, and illuminate.
Exhume some vegetables from that moldy fridge-draw tomb and you might have a salad soon… huh? [cups hand to ear] you dig the non-mammal meal?
Veal is out, but any sorta keel-hauled meat is a treat. Like your ladies you don’t mind them gambas, take the head away and suck the sweet meat from the limbs. Crack a crab claw and cleave the taste y’all.
Crustaceans and pisceans may form the eats that you mix with your beans…happy now? Those beans have parents, and the onion screams as loudly as any lamb, when tossed into the pan. Vegetarian? A life-form fascism?…choose that which doesn’t meet your ivory-high-horse standard and…eat it. How dare you. We are related to all life on this planet. The veg is our brother.
A line has to be drawn and I’m drawing it. You and your halcyon, simian yawn … I’m ignoring it.
I’m with my mammalian brothers, check our swim-style, arms made flippers, nostrils gone blow-holes, streamlined sublime : flying through the brine-time. Like the horse, you are my most noble friends, and I will not eat you.
Unless absolutely necessary.