YSaC, Vol. 1021: As I perchance hereafter shall think meat.
Last week I tweeted about a possible hobby; now I’m providing job leads for all!
Looking For A Few People To Throw Meat
We are having an event coming up in July where we will be hiring several people to simply throw marinated and finely cut slabs of beefs, porks, and hams at a very large (in size) male cousin in our family. For this event our cousin will be dressed in a pink, sink-tight speedo type baithing suit. It will be the hired person(s) job to just hit him on his entire body with meat slabs. The hired person must also be willing to wear a provided pig or cow costume. The point of this is to provide extreme humor to both friends and family. Having a good arm will be helpful as you will be expected to do this semi-consistantly for approx 4 or 5 hours throughout the afternoon/evening. We will need the hired person(s) to be available for 6 or 7 hours that day. Delicious foods and beverages will be provided. Please provide two or three sentences as to why this situation will suit you and include a reasonable rate in the email… Thank you
Huh. Well, I’ve got all these chicken costumes now — can we use chicken instead? Because I’m TOTALLY ready for that gig.
I’d better work on my training regimen. Which is better to prepare for meat-tossing — aerobic activity or weight-training? I’d need to do the weight training to handle the larger cuts, but the aerobic workouts will help with stamina.
A couple questions come to mind before I apply.
First: Who is providing the beefs, porks and hams? My rate will be considerably higher if I am needing to do the marinating and fine-cutting.
Second: If the fine entertainment I would be providing is only expected to take 4-5 hours of time out of my day, with what activities would I be spending the other 2-3 hours that I would be expected to be in attendance for?
Having tossed your meat, you’d presumably be expected to toss salad…
…after witnessing such I’m pretty sure I’d be tossing cookies…
Here’s the wind up, and the pitch…it’s low and inside.
The count is now a strike in two balls…
I’d say “try to wash away the shame” but it would probably take more than three hours to do that.
It also requires a buffing stone, borax, and 20 grit sandpaper.
I favor a wire brush and muriatic acid for those really stubborn shame-stains.
You should start an advice column GC. That is much more useful than Dear Heloise.
(Has a momentarily geeky thought about Abelard and Heloise but keeps it to herself)
You know me, I’m all about helping people.
Disclaimer: This may not actually be true.
[rereads ad]
Probably cleaning marinade stains off supplied cow or pig costume . . .
I’m rather worried that Speedo actually produce sink-tight bathing suits – seems a bit self-defeating…
Also, I’m concerned about the sort of friends/family attending this party, who are apparently going to find this utterly hilarious even after five hours.
I am not surprised they make sink tight speedos. Haven’t you seen the sinks walking on the beach in them? Yesterday I saw a bidet wearing one!
Sink tight equals needing a pipewrench to bludgeon yourself with after you see it worn.
I thought sink-tight was when it’s so tight it moulds itself to every dimple and cranny, which people drawn to wearing Speedos in public tend to have more of than the general population. *shudder*
*pours a big ol’ bath of brain bleach*
Aaahhh…
*looks at ad, checks temp again…yep, still 100 and the elephant has not vacated chest..decides this ad is simply a figment of my fever-addled brain…crawls back under covers*
Quick, Lola! Flask stat!
*stumbles into thread from “one of those days”*
*passes flask*
*staggers off in no particular direction*
That explains it. I was getting very disturbed, thinking this might be for real. But it’s just CJ’s projected fever dream. I can no continue to go about my day without weeping.
FEEL BETTER, CJ!!!!!!!
Mini-tanks, y’all!
It’s nothin….just a little sinus/ear infection…oh and bronchitis.
You know, typical crapola…
Sigh……..my doctor is making a bundle as is the pharmacy. It’s been a helluva year so far. I’d like just ONE month where I’m NOT taking some kind of antibiotic.
*grumble, grumble – hack, cough, wheeze – grumble, grumble*
[ailing corey]
It’s counter-intuitive, but a warm soak in the tub can do wonders.
Allows the body to relax the mechanisms making you febrile (just you body trying to “cook” the disease out of you).
Also, after you get out of the tub, you will feel cooler.
For symptom relief about the sinuses, I tend to go with seriously spicy foods, curries, chile con carne, sopa seca de tortilla, and the like. I also like citrus juices in quantity, too.
[/getting better soon corey]
Thanks, Capn…actually the soaking makes the chest relax and does wonder for a fibromyalgia-riddled body. Ahh….
Sleep is number one on the list, and about number five on the priorities this week. Sigh…
I got some kind of nose spray, Omnaris, from the doc. At first it didn’t seem to work, but about an hour after applying suddenly I could breathe.
Ear hurts like a bugger, but I do have some tea tree oil drops to put in at home. Can’t say they’ll do much for the dizziness…it’s like being drunk without the fun.
/end whiny-crybaby
Ugh, the “joy” of an inner-ear infection. Even when you’re laying perfectly still you still feel like you’re trapped on a Tilt-A-Hurl.
I had a sinus infection last week which was prompted by a bad cold and today I broke out with shingles on my face (yes I am 27, yes I am not supposed to have shingles at this age, yes I have had it seven times in the last five years and if I hear this reaction one more time I will tear my hair out) so I totally sympathize C.J. Feel better soon.
Oh Lara!! I have SO many relatives that have had shingles. I feel for you, hon!
I have asked a couple of times when I can get the vaccine. You have to be at least 60, the doc says. I’m old, but not that old..yet.
My luck, I’ll get the damned shingles a week before my 60th birthday.
*grumbly, grumpy, mayor of grumpytown reporting for duty today*
I have tried to get the vaccine but like you said, they wont give it to people under 60. Evil.
Anyone that has had chicken pox can get shingles at any time. It’s a stress reaction. So stop stressing. Simple, huh?
Hmm… someone is not giving you good information. You don’t need to be over 60 to get the shingles vaccine. Medicare and most private insurances won’t pay for the immunization for people under 60, but if you want to pay for it, you can get it. It’s admittedly fairly expensive, about $290 a dose. And Smedley is correct, in that stress can trigger outbreaks, but 7 in 5 years seems more likely an immune system issue.
“The point of this is to provide extreme humor to both friends and family.”
I already hate you, your family and friends – and I didn’t need to meet any of you! Thanks for making my life that much more efficient.
They’re the kind of people who think smashing fruit is hilarious. But they always ask, “Ok, you smashed the melon… why aren’t you throwing meat too?!”
“Smashed Melons” – IF’s cover band for ‘Smashing Pumpkins’?
And Monica, how good to see you again – seems like forever!
Awww! Thanks! :). I’m around – but tend to lurk…
Monica’s back!
What about Monica’s back? Did she get a tatoo? Is there a monkey there? I’m so confuzzled.
Thank you 🙂
They don’t want to meet you, they want to MEAT you.
Yeah, just what sort of “family” is this, that “uncle” Sparky parades around in a speedo while the family watches some form of “furrie” Chorus pelt Unc’ Spark with meat?
And, just how rich are these people to have meat in so great an excess beyond mere Bacchanalia as to be used to demean or abase Unc’ Sparky?
I’m guessing this “family” does not have pigs to come clean up after.
Although, the possibility that this “party” is in a basement, and “the birthday boy” is also called “Gimp” and Zed has the pitties to clean up after . . . cannot be discounted.
That, or Paris Hilton’s entourage is really slipping, advertising in CL (but, they could be banned from Variety by now, too)
I’m actually thinking more along the lines of throwing the same few cuts of meat over and over again. I mean, what’s a little dirt among family members?
You have your choice of meat that hit Cousin Sparky’s face, meat that hit Cousin Sparky’s ass, or meat that hit Cousin Sparky’s …miscellaneous bits. If you get thirsty, you can have all the punch you like!
That wading pool Cousin Sparky is standing in is just full of the stuff; it’s an old family recipe combining blood, marinade, and turpentine. Guaranteed to make all your problems (and possibly your eyesight) go away!
That first sentence, taken out of context, sounds like the start of a weird porno.
The same could be said about most comments here, big boy.
Oh look, the cable man/pizza delivery man/plumber/mail man/encyclopedia salesman is here!
That seems like a lot for one man to try to squeeze in.
***Cue the sinked Speedo***
*Brain comes to a screeching halt*
Of what comedic value is the marinade for this whole endeavor? Is it true that being hit with a terriyaki marinaded rib eye is funnier than being hit with just a regular steak?! Have I been doing it wrong all this time?
Also… I’ve got a squirrel costume… so… tiny cuts of meat.
T”TM”M – sorry, but you cannot apply for this position. You will already be engaged that day escorting Bacontini to the festivities since he will be the beverage of choice “for de ladies’.
Squirrels are vegetarians; we’d have to throw our nuts at you. Or someone’s nuts, I’m not sure on the rules of this game.
[almost on topic] Nature hates me. Squirrels have hit me in the head multiple times with nuts and a seagull once landed on my shoulder and hit me in the head repeatedly with its wings. [/almost on topic]
I was once attacked by a flock of geese in a petting zoo. Those are some mean birds.
Maybe they were just angry birds trying to get to the pigs…
When I was two, a flock of geese tried to kill me. I had to run screaming to the car and even when inside they still tried to attack me. I was deathly afraid of geese for many years after that until I grew tall enough to intimidate them.
Dear Sparky:
This situation will suit me because in gym class, everyone said that I throw like a pig or a cow. A reasonable rate would be the entire annual GDP of the United States, per hour. Plus tips.
This is just not kosher!
Chairs, tables, decorations? Check
DJ, balloons, flowers? Check.
70 kegs and a full bar? Check.
100 pounds each of beef, pork, ham? Check.
Cow and pig costumes? Check.
Speedo in size 5X? Check.
Typical Family Reunion.
Your family reunions sound like fun, mine usually just have cake and elderly relatives demanding to know why I haven’t produced any children yet.
At least your relatives know who you are.
Hi Smedley! Welcome to YSaC!
Thanks!
*dusts off the e that Taco dropped and slips it in where it belongs* I know, I know. Corner.
Down with ‘e’s!
This…this just makes me nauseaous. Urp.
*Slaps the monkey with some meat and then runs away*
…
*Looks at what he wrote*
I’ll be in the corner.
“You can’t have any pudding if you don’t toss your meat.”
MEAT NOT ON FIRE!
Thank you for that earworm Hammy, I much prefer that to the one your name gave me.
WTF?!!!!!!!!!!!!! Happy Monday right back at ya, Taco! Jeez!
Heh heh, I get it. Monkey. Meat. *snort*
For the record, I want to say that this sounds like an awesome way to get an infection.
EDIT: Is it wrong that, in addition to making me nauseous, this post is now making me hungry?
We might have different definitions of awesome…
*Looks at the Tacotionary* Nope, nothing wrong here. Carry on.
Yes, by the gods YES.
I think they want to be funny like the fish slapping dance but they took a wrong turn back when they were born.
Yeah, this right here is why you don’t inject Absinthe into your eyes while pregnant.
And spent your adolescence smoking mothballs.
I vote for Smoking Mothballs as today’s band name.
I never did get into smoking mothballs. I tried but it was such a pain in the butt spreading their little legs apart to find them, you know?
Um.
::blink blink::
Anyone have the Mental Image Eraser?
Sorry, still trying to blot out the Taco Thong. It’s going to need recharging.
You can borrow mine, but even the industrial strength model won’t remove the entire image.
I’m getting flashes of what looks like butterflies skinny-dipping.
Smedly, there’s your problem… Blotting won’t work, you have to soak and rub it.*
*That is most definitely what she uttered.
In my head it becomes butterfly on butterfly porn.
ARRGGGHHH MY BRAIN!
Getting a peek into Monkey’s brain requires a photo ID.
Or a stroll down the wrong part of Market Street (or Harry Hines, or . . . )
From now on I will be using
instead of “That’s what she said.” Thank you EB!
I am still pondering “very large (in size).” As opposed to what, Sparky? Very large in color? Very large in shape? It’s clearly not “very large in intellect” since Cousin Speedo has presumably agreed to participate in this meaty event.
That’s what everclear and duct tape are for…
I would be willing to bed that Cousin Speedo has agreed to wear said Speedo, but probably doesn’t know why. The flying meat will be a surprise.
And then he’s going to stand still for approximately 4 to 5 hours and continue to be surprised?
I have a feeling this job involves following the cousin around. The Speedo is just to make it easier to identify the target if he tries to get away into the crowd.
You know, The old “Jackass in the Headlights” look.
I thought the Speedo was just there to make him look ridiculous.
Oh, wait….there’s that whole meat part…
That, or cos’ always goes around in a speedo . . .
This still scans like kardashians married into swamp people . . . Tarantino-type characters, only without the redeeming unnecessary gratuitous violence.
Cap’n wins the spit take of the day for me.
Terrible, terrible mental image – may require intensive therapy.
I would be willing to bed that Cousin Speedo
As Bill the Cat would say, “Gack!”
*Brain bleach on the rocks – make mine a double.*
Oh dear. I blame Taco.
Perhaps it could be “big in spirit.” You know, like “The Little Ham that Could.”
Could what?
Dear Sparky,
I can throw a fastball that has measured as fast as 95 miles per hour. I assume my meat throwing capability would be comparable. My rate is the salary of the best criminal defense lawyer in the country for my future trial for your cousin’s death by skirt steak. Contact me at xxx-xxx-xxxx or I will come to your home with a whole cow and throw it through the front window.
Yours
Roger Clemen’s cousin in a sink tight speedo
What they don’t mention is the target that will be positioned on the speedo right over Sparky’s cousin’s naughty bits.
My meat pitching while dressed in a fursuit is not very fluid. You could call it jerky.
Nicely done, sir.
:non-sarcastic golfclap:
Very well-done!
“Murder is Meat”
Apart from the bonfire lapping at the sky a dozen feet in front of him, it was dark. Oppressively so. Paolo stood shivering in the chill night air, made to wear only a pair of skimpy plum smugglers. He was of the age where, per tradition, he was to undergo El Rito de la Carne — The Rite of Meat. It was a ritual where, upon turning 18, the first-born male of the family must pay his penance to the animals he has eaten as a way to apologize to them and thank them for providing them nourishment and life. Paolo had no idea what the ritual involved and nobody would tell him, which was supposedly part of the ritual.
He felt alone. He could see nothing beyond the ring of light cast by the fire, and he stood just on its edge so he could see nothing beyond his own backside. Above the crackling of wood, a distant, indiscernible sound wafted by on the breeze, too faint to resolve. Probably a coyote off in the hills, or perhaps just the wind through the treetops. Paolo wished they’d just start the ritual already. He was already cold, being just a little too far away from the fire to properly benefit from its warmth, and the mounting tension coupled with his growing sense of unease were making him shiver. Or was that the point? Maybe the nervousness and uncertainty themselves were meant to build to a fever pitch, eating away at him like a guilty conscience in anticipation of something that would never come. Could they be so sneaky?
Another sound came drifting by, louder this time but still indistinct. It was probably nothing — probably something he heard all the time but which his mind, in its present state, was making hazy, fearful shapes out of. Was he supposed to be scared? Was that it? Or was he supposed to battle the fear like some manly rite of passage? If this was really a psychological game, then he supposed his first test was to figure out how he was supposed to react. As a passage into manhood it made more sense that he fight back the fear to prove his strength of will. But then, if this wasn’t a test of his manliness, then he could be wrong and fail the test when he was supposed to let the fear consume him in penance as he was told.
Fortunately — or unfortunately, given the circumstances — he was saved from having to puzzle it out by way of a heavy, wet smack against his bare chest which jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked down at his chest. A sizable area was splattered with crimson. At his feet was what looked to be a bloody, raw steak. Paolo looked around, though he could still see nothing but the fire. The sound came again — louder still, and this time he could just about identify it: It sounded like the lowing of a cow. Not the normal sort of lowing, but a deeper, more angry sound that dropped significantly in pitch at the end, like the punctuation at the end of an assertive statement. He’d never heard a cow make a sound like that before.
Another wet smack, this time on his back. He could see the spot where it hit, but turning around he saw, through the shadow cast by his body, another piece of meat on the ground. It looked like a pork chop, which he then confirmed by the grunt of a pig some distance away. He spun again as he heard the cow lowing again — very close this time. Slowly, almost menacingly, he saw first the cow’s head, then its forequarters step into the dancing firelight. It lowed again as it looked down its snout at him. He’d never seen a cow look like that before, either. It was a cold, murderous glare. Or maybe it was his mind, blooming with panic, that put that look in its eyes, ascribing to an otherwise docile creature a murderous intent that it shouldn’t be capable of.
Impossibly, the cow began to stand upright on its hind legs. Paolo’s mind recoiled in fear as it stood, and then screeched in white hot panic as he watched it shove a cloven hoof straight into its chest, tear out another hunk of bloody meat, and throw it at him. The flesh hit him square in the chest once again, leaving another splotch of bright red. The squeal of a pig behind him followed by another wet smack on his back told him that the pig was doing the same thing. He didn’t even have to look. He couldn’t look anyway, as he was paralyzed with abject terror. Another cow stepped into the ring of light, and then another. More grunting pigs appeared behind him, to the side, joining the cows as each one in turn reached inside themselves and tore off more chunks of their flesh to throw at him. He began to stagger from the rapid pelting on all sides, but he couldn’t let himself fall.
No. No, this wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be real. Animals couldn’t do that. His mind was playing tricks. Awful, horrible, terrifying tricks. This was a mind game, the psychological experiment he thought about. His mind began to calm itself as realization dawned. This was the fear. This was his battle. He understood now.
Paolo released a primal scream, a battle cry, an insane howl like the wolf they wanted him to be.
—
“I don’t know,” Miguel responded. “It was going fine, but then he just…” He couldn’t continue as he broke down in tears again.
“Did you know he victims?” the police officer asked.
“No,” Miguel said between sobs. “We hired them for the festivities. It was supposed to be a joke! Just a joke!”
“Okay, just wait here and rest,” the officer told him. “We may have more questions later.”
With that the officer left to speak with a superior. Miguel looked around him. Seven of the eight they had hired were dead, their throats ripped clean out. Only one had survived, and then only because he had managed to run far enough away in the commotion that Paolo hadn’t noticed, where he was able to call the authorities. He sat out the back of one of the ambulances now, his cow head removed and lying by his feet. Paolo was detained in another ambulance on the other side of the yard, strapped tightly to a gurney. His face was caked with blood, and he still struggled against his bonds, making vicious growling sounds. The rest in attendance were being separately questioned by police.
This was an unmitigated disaster. Miguel had no idea how this could possibly have gone so wrong, so tragically wrong. He was sure — as absolutely sure as he was about anything in life — that Paolo would get all eight.
*Hangs up the phone*
You know what, I think I’m actually gonna pass on this meat throwing gig.
“Plum smuggler”. Ha! That phrase is never NOT funny.
I’m always torn between that and “banana hammock,” but “plum smugglers” has that clandestine air about it that makes you want think of people staring and asking, “What’s he got under there? Peaches? Clementines? Persimmons? What??”
Please MF, don’t tear your Banana Hammock.
That wouldn’t be very a-peel-ing. HA HA!
Sorry, that was low-hanging fruit.
*SNAP*
*Jingly Jingly Jingly*
So, at last we meat, Thong Star. You have the pig, and I see your pork is as big as mine. Now let’s see how well you handle it.
Ok, I’m calling this one. MF: corner.
Hey, now … the Snark Lounge is a
n occasionallyfamily-friendly establishment!If you want to handle each other’s meat you need to go around to the rear.
Gosh, a couple of guys try to have a learned discourse on the socio-economic ramifications of abusing of the modern ideal with respect to dress code and you get all juvenile on us. For shame, Ghostie. For shame.
PS: *Jingly Jingly Jingly*
You come anywhere near my corner with that thing and I’ll give you a pork chop right in your jingle bells.
Well done again MF!
Freaky-puppy, I am
frightenedamazed by you. Truly.“he victims”
Great story MF
Why?????????
Why not?
Maybe “male cousin” has a hard time meating people…
Which is odd since his family seems more the willing to pay people to meat him.
It can nervous business, that. There’s a lot at steak.
I think it all broils down to who shows up. Personally, I don’t think it’s such a rare person who is willing to fillet it out there like that.
It can be tough, meating the grill of your dreams, but if you get yourself fired up you might make the cut. I mean, what’s the worcester that can happen?
It’s nice that we can handle these gristly subjects on here. I know we usually just chew the fat, but I think it’s important to make sure we ground ourselves with these searing questions. Frankly, I’ve noticed a tendon-cy for us all to become a bit silly.
You guys are in rare form today…
Yes, this is a prime example of the type of ribbing at which YSAC excels.
This is a tender moment I think we all wish could last forever. Too bad such juicy commentary often comes back and bites us in the rump.
Why would it? This is classic stuff. Have you never seen Dean Martin’s roasts?
*pouting, jealous that MF and Taco stole all her funny beefy comebacks*
Y’all are full of baloney. What a couple of weiners.
Ok guys, don’t meat it to death.
Yes, it’s time to chop it off, you hams!
I’m far too chicken to meat this turkey. Plus I’m terrified that his plumhugger would slip and show his t-bone
It is all because cousin Sparky has had a very sheltered life. He spent his entire formative years slaving away in his father’s butcher shop. No friends, no time to play baseball or tag, or kick-the can. Never had a chance to form relationships with members of the opposite sex…
No, poor cousin Sparky just spent every waking moment in the butcher shop, pounding the pork or tenderizing the veal. How he dreamed of a chance to stuff his own sausage into a natural casing. And now this: the humility of a stranger beating him with his own meat…
There isn’t a corner big enough in all the Snarklounge to hold Grampdaddy when he gets going…
Congrats on the about to be an Auntie! I have been an aunt for five years and it has been awesome!!
In case we lost track of what I am talking about (I do most of the time) I am responding to EB waaaaay up at the top.
I decided to help everyone out by putting this through the nonsense filter and translating it:
Ve-a ere-a hefeeng un ifent cumeeng up in Jooly vhere-a ve-a veell be-a hureeng seferel peuple-a tu seemply throo mereeneted und feenely coot slebs ooff beeffs, purks, und hems et a fery lerge-a (in seeze-a) mele-a cuooseen in oooor femeely… pork pork pork!
You’re welcome.
You called?
Eh, zeere-a yuoo ere-a Hemcun. I joost vunted tu tell yuoo, I speek jeefe-a. Pork Pork Pork!
The Swedish Chef visits CL.
This post makes PETA look like a calm voice of reason.
*slap my Speedo with your rump roast big daddy!*
I was actually thinking that maybe cos’ is a vegetarian and this is the cruel way the family has chosen to pester him about his choice. I think that actually makes too much sense though.
p.s. PETA makes all vegetarians/vegans look bad. It’s like a hate group practically.
Well it is a terrorist organization (or at least a financial front for radical micro-terrorist groups) so yes, I think “hate group” is a pretty accurate lable for them.
Heck, most humane treatment of animal advocate groups won’t let themselves be lumped in the same sentence with PETA these days.
I had never heard of it as a terrorist group or a front for one. It is certainly over the top enough.
[corey]There are a lot of financial ties to groups who do firebombings of animal testing fascilities (Both corperate and those aimed at conservation of species… and the odd verterinary clinic and human society).
PETA is pretty careful about it from the accountability side, since they usually cut ties right after such an event and plead “Oh we didn’t know they were gonna do that with our money!” Which is only believable the first time or maybe two that it happened. Now it’s up to a few dozen such events and nobody is really buying it anymore.
And since PETA’s leadership have openly praised the individuals for their valor in these actions, the denials of their lawers start to look pretty flimsy.
I’m honestly not sure how they keep escaping prosecution… but maybe it’s a case of “The evil you know.” You start to see PETA funding somebody, and you keep your eye on them. Maybe you’ll stop them before they light something on fire that way. [/corey]
I was just thinking a “what if” of, perhaps this is a group of third-generation vegans in the grip of carnephillia. That, perhaps, they’ve been so estranged from the idea of meat as nourishment, that it is just another forbidden fetish item . . .
“[F]inely cut slabs of beefs, porks, and hams” suggests several things (if only for the oxford comma use). What if these people are going to pitch zebra, or hippo, or the like at the (very large) cousin?
But, then again, perversion tends to be mind-boggling.
Great, now I’m wondering if they’re trying to tenderize and marinate the cousing for later consumption…
“cousing”
Is that a noun or a verb? Why would you marinate it? Does it make it taste better? “Cousing” looks like “casing” so I think it’s sausage.
Ummmmm. Sausage.
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
I’ve gotta use “Meatflinger” as a nickname in my next D&D campaign.
Sounds like Cartman’s “Fingerbang”…..
Ok, I thing the heat is getting to me.
Just had a vision of Quenton Tarantino producing a live-action version of Pearls Before Swine–sort of a Sesame Street version of Kill Bill–where Steve Postis (who, I remain certain, is a lurker here) is chased by Pig and Pigita being pelted with meat . . . all with an über-hip 70’s music soundtrack . . .
So, I’m going to go soak my head for a half-hour or so until the visions and voices go away again . . .
The heat must really be getting to you… you’re starting to turn into me.
[Entirely OT]
GHOSTIE! CLICK THIS
You’ve probalby already seen it, but you totally need to make that as part of your pony project!
[/OT]
Oooh, I want that for my birthday!
Yay, I’m in the box!
Also, I’ll be more or less conspicuously absent today (if you already hadn’t noticed) as tomorrow is my first day of my new job* as a professional Meat Flinger** and I’m spending it hanging out with my family and my friends, playing games and watching movies. I’ll try to pop in tomorrow!
*Totally true.
**Job title may have been altered to protect identities.
A job as a meatflinger, you don’t say? I wonder if a career as a poo flinger would make me qualified for flinging meat.
I don’t know, I would hate to turn my back on my current profession. I have a job I can really just throw myself into. There ain’t nothing like just jumping in and getting my hands all dirty. I was up to my neck in work today, but I enjoyed just plowing my way thru. Yes, yes I did.
Are you surprised I’ve been employee of the month three times this year already? Why, Boss Monkey said just the other day, he said “Funky, they ain’t nobody that can sling $&!t like you.”
Throwing meat at someone, marinated or not, is assault and likely to leave bruises. It coukd also possibly break some ribs or do some internal damage. Sounds like a perfectly normal way to treat your male cousin. I think I will skip my next family reunion.
A thought has occurred to me. I don’t see anywhere that the meat is even cooked.
Trichinosis-palooza, away!
That was the first thought that popped into my mind. But then again, my highschool biology teacher has named me her squeamish student for balking at the idea of dissecting the cow heart without any gloves.
Squeamish? Sounds more like you’re the smartest student in the class.
Sister Lyle, DUCK! Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Baxter Springs!
This begs the question: Why couldn’t they just do this themselves? Why do they need to hire someone to throw meat at the guy? If I was going to a party where there was food-flinging involved, I would expect to be able to participate in it at some point.
But not for 5 hours, and not if they are wearing a speedo. I would not want to see any of my relations in speedos.