The other day, I was out walking my dog when I came across a “Coming Soon“ banner for a new Italian restaurant in my area. By the way, my dog is a rescue. I rescued her from me killing her last week for pissing on my rug by deciding not to kill her. That makes me a sensitive man. Anyway, Italian food kicks ass, so after seeing this new Italian place I had to go home and make some spaghetti. Spaghetti is on my top ten list of foods, its right in between anger and tits as one of my favorite sources of nourishment.
When I got home I checked my cabinet for the right ingredients to make myself a plate of terrifying pasta. I already had a can of pasta sauce and spaghetti noodles, I just didn’t have beef to put in the sauce. Instead of going to the grocery store to buy ground beef, I instead went to a ranch on the outskirts of town that had live cattle. After inviting myself on to their property, I picked the fattest, juiciest cow and beat it to death with a 2×4 right there in the field.
Seriously, cows are the dumbest animal on the fucking planet. They are made of the most delicious meat possible and have zero defense mechanisms. You could walk up to a cow and start carving steaks out of its side and it would be too stupid to know to walk the hell away from you. I have no idea why Indians worship cows like they do. In India, cows can roam freely without fear of being eaten because everyone in India is a pussy. In India, if a cow comes into your living room it is considered a blessing, probably because 86% of India lives in poverty and a free meal just delivered itself to your door. But instead of eating the dumb cow like it wanted you to, they instead say “Namaste” and continue to be impoverished and hungry. I’ll fight anyone who says “Namaste” around me because it’s a bullshit, hijacked expression used by smug “spiritual” asshats who think that listening to U2 while stoned makes them cultured.
Fuck it, the less cows that India eats, the more there is for me. So after killing the cow and cutting off the meat I wanted, I headed back home. First I opened the can of sauce… With my fist. Then naturally I fried up the beef and boiled the noodles. At long last, my delicious tribute to myself was ready. I took one bite and it was so fucking amazing that I immediately popped a boner. I had a boner for so long that I got dizzy and passed out in my plate of spaghetti. While asleep, I must have snored because I think I inhaled some of the noodles. Now I’m a day behind my writing schedule, I’ve got a lung full of pasta, and I’m mad as hell.
The only thing that the meal was missing was a big cut of veal covered in cheese. Outside of the fact that it’s delicious, veal and cheese rules because it’s a dead baby cow covered in the rotten milk of its own mother. When you look at it that way, how did terrible people like Pol Pot not eat veal and cheese every day of their life?