Bullfighting is like a local gang challenging you to a one-on-one fistfight, but when you show up, they got a big ole knife and a clownin’ homie for backup.
After witnessing the absolutely appalling murder of innocent bulls, I vowed never to eat steak that I knew personally. The murder? Horrific. The steak? Terrific!
Before you judge me for not converting to veganism, please hear my defense. Everyone wants their death to have a purpose. If your homeboy was senselessly slain, wouldn’t you eat him? No, ’cause that’s cannibalism. Well, cannibalism, smannibalism. If you don’t eat your dead homie y’all obviously y’all weren’t friends.
Speaking of cannibals, here’s a hypothetical situation: What would you do if your friend, who had a broken leg, was taken by cannibals?
Me? Didn’t I just say I was eating my slain homies? You should then already know I was leaving Limpin’ Larry behind.
I’m unapologetically the type of friend who sees the bus coming, takes off running, and don’t look back to warn my homies. They got three options: look back and figure it out, get with the program and start running just ’cause, or get eaten by cannibals.
I mean, once I make it to the bus, I’m deff asking the driver to wait for them. I’m not a total jerk.
Same goes for Broken Bones Barry; There’s no way i’m going into a den of flesh-eaters to save a crippled friend. But and however, I’d certainly run for help and double back when I have a squad.
But back to the steaks.
While I was reverently pourin’ one out for my homie—by that I mean, drizzling a recently slain bull with authentic Mexican steak sauce—our conversation was abruptly redirected.
Sweden, a fellow travel companion from well, Sweden, was yapping on about how “girls” are worried about their weight. His constant repeating of the same point made me look up and ask, “What does that have to do with bullfighting?”
Before I could return to my meal, Sweden swooped down, plucked a piece of steak from off my plate, and plopped it in his mouth.
Pause. The solution to women not eating is not to steal their food but to give them more food. Secondly, that’s not food, that’s my well chewed up steak fat!
How greedy you have to be to jealous someone’s food while you have food in your mouth?! How blind you got to be to confuse fresh juicy steak with old chewed up ligaments?
Sir! I have no words to explain the look on this man’s face when I told him that he, like an out of pocket baby bird, was eating my regurgitated steak fat.
He swallowed and, without breaking eye contact, I removed another piece of fat trimming from my mouth and added it to the pile he’d just taken from. I guess we gotta get married now.
Shout out to the bullfighters. Please pick on someone your own size.
Award-winning Caribbean comedian, Onicia Muller’s weekly humour column, Just Being Funny is chicken soup for the naive sceptic’s soul. You can hire her to write anything from blogs and newsletters to
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