Whole Fools

As an unabashed carnivore, I have no qualms about eating anything that had a mother. I’ll eat beef brisket, hamburgers, bacon, turkey bacon, beef stew, smurfs, fried chicken, dinosaur eggs–whatever.

It’s meat? It’s all good.

Hell, General Mills could put O-shaped pieces of meat it in a soggy, bloody

1 out of every 37 boxes comes with free "I'm mad 4 Mad Cow's Disease" button!

1 out of every 37 boxes comes with free "I'm mad 4 Mad Cow's Disease" button!

cereal box, call it “Meatie-O’s” and I’d still buy it and eat it in a bowl with 1% milk.

So yeah, I love meat (twss).

And because of that, I don’t get all high-brow about my meat or where I get it, which is unfortunately more than I can say for many of my peers, who feel that purchasing meat from anywhere other than Whole Foods, that holy bastion of yuppie yum-yums,  is tantamount to supporting the Iraq War.

Of course, Whole Foods doesn’t help. I went to Whole Foods the other night to pick up some food. As I strode over to the meat section, I asked the kind-hearted butcher, “good sir or madam (too many face tattoos to tell), might I have your finest cut of ground Smurf please?”.

Gargamel says, "Get'em nice and fat first. The Smurf-est meat is in the rump."

Gargamel says, "Get'em nice and fat first. The Smurf-est meat is in the rump."

They merely stared at me, so I moved over to the wrapped meat section, where I lifted a pack of lean ground beef that had one of those annoying Whole-ier than thou labels on it that tells you just what kind of meat you’re getting.

This particular package read: “100% organically-grown, locally raised ground beef. We’ve treated this meat in the finest fashion: breast-fed with

Farmer Keillor oversees his chicken farm.

Farmer Keillor oversees his chicken farm.

our own mother’s teat, raised on Garrison Keillor, taught Mandarin, co-signed on its first car, and we served as its’ ‘first’ once it hit puberty. Later, while we spooned, we then chopped-up its head, limbs and genitals, ground it and wrapped it for you. Farm Fresh.”

I put the package back, stunned. I instead merely purchased bread, condominents and some frozen fries. As I stood in line, my cashier asked, “Are you requiring anything today, upwardly-mobile minority consumer?” to which I replied, “Oh no, I’m going to buy my meat next door, at Super Fresh.”

The cashier’s face began to twitch, and soon she was joined by my bagger who both cornered me and peppered me with the following facts:

Chick fight!

Chick fight!

  • the meat at Super Fresh is treated poorly, with most of the chickens actually initially handling unloading the grocery trucks and then given sporks and made to battle each other to the death during breaks for the amusement of the human employees. The losing chicken is then wrapped and placed in the ‘Poultry’ section.
  • many of the beef and fish are diseased and unhealthy after being brought over as former Thai sex-slaves.
  • More than one piece of pork was caught dealing heroin at a school playground in our very neighborhood, but only to the black kids, because pigs hate blacks, that’s why cops are also called “pigs” and why black Muslims don’t eat pork. This can all be corroborated by watching The Wire and Spike Lee’s Malcolm X.

So, with this new-found knowledge I was actually appalled. Scared even. “Even the Meatie-O’s?”, I asked. They nodded.

I paid for my goods. I even purchased a bag there since they warned me that Super Fresh bags were made from the tears of orphans. Chinese ones.

And it all only cost me $75!


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