Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I Like Meat

This isn’t what you think. I like raw read meat! I’ll admit it. I can think of nothing better than dropping a red, bloody steak on the grill and listening to it sizzle. I like my prime rib still bleeding when I cut into it. Meat is Jekyll’s field, so I won’t get into how to cook it and make it all fruity. (I mean fruity in the homosexual sense, not in the putting pineapples or something on it way.)

Why do I and most straight men like meat? It’s simple really. We’re the hunter/gathers of the clan. In the olden days, the tusked male would strike the wooly mammoth with a sharp stick. The naked woman would wait at home wearing nothing but hair from head to toe. The man would make a loud wail, and, from west and east, the clan would tramp in and eat it raw. No wonder the lifespan of the average cave man was so short—Salmonella; not to mention getting trampled by the mammoth and eaten in its place.

It’s been at least a couple of years since our tusks fell off. (Imagine the pain of birthing a child with tusks! Better them than us, right guys?) We look different. Despite my best efforts, women cut their hair short and wear clothes now. Many things have changed, but the meat remains. We still eat it. We usually cook it but not always. Our world has changed, but bloody meat hasn’t

What’s so sexy about a thick juicy steak? Every man who’s reading this is salivating right now. It’s like Pavlov’s dog. Just think of a big, red piece of meat with a little fat, and there you are panting and drooling. What is it?

It’s simple really. Deep down inside, we all have tusks. Deep down inside, we want to see some naked chick just wearing her long hair. Deep down inside we want to kill a cow (not quite the challenge of the mammoth, but it’s all we got). We’re harkening back to our evolutionary predecessors (big words).

For the ten seconds when we hold that part of a bleeding carcass in our hands before it goes on the grill, we can eat it raw. We can kill the mammoth. We can club the sexy girl on the head and drag her back to our cave. We can grunt and be understood. What more can you want?

Opinions? I’m listening.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

(Note: Out of reverence for Jekyll’s picture posted yesterday, I thought it best to avoid a hot chick picture here. Go enjoy his picture from yesterday. Her hair’s pretty long.)


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