Posts Tagged meat

Hotel Bacon (Michelle Branch parody)


This is to be sung to the tune of Hotel Paper by Michelle Branch.

I like mostly just hotel bacon.
Knowing the leftovers would never be consumed.
Raised, erased, their flesh is too tasty to leave here.
so I try not to eat meat but I do.
But I do.

No need to feed pigs the grain for my breakfast.
Sow means, reap none from the future; it’s theft.
I try to stop but it’s free to get this.
I know tomorrow there’ll be nothing left.

And I wanted to be
living in places I could keep living.
But I want luxury,
so I’ll take this hotel, and all it’s serving.

This turned out to cost more than I bargained for,
and I can’t stay in this place another day.
Forgive me; now that I’m baconless like you, I like you.
I just realised it way too late.

And I wanted to be
Living in places I could keep living.
But I got luxury,
So I took this hotel, and all its servings.
(Maybe this temporary retreat is surrender.)

My life’s mostly just hotel bacon.

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Ace of Diamonds: Fork and Tongs, the play


No new writing this week, just a video and mp3 of my reading a love poem I wrote previously. What can I say? I was only following instructions. I chose this one because it’s more finished than the love poem I wrote last week, I’ve already read it for an audience, and I have all the props required.

I didn’t particularly want to put it on YouTube, since it’s my first video featuring me and I’m kind of self-conscious about it, but I couldn’t find a decent host for it elsewhere. So you’ll just have to suffer through it.

There might be a more novel ace of diamonds next week; one of the cards is perfect for a final Thing. In any case, there will be a second joker, and then this adventure will be over. It won’t be my last adventure, though. Among other things, I’ll probably continue making recordings of Things. Let me know if there are any Things in particular that you’d like recordings of, or any of the Things-with-tunes that you’d like to sing if I sent you the tune I had in mind. There are a few Things I don’t think my robot choir can do justice to. To make it easier for people to follow them, I’m setting up a podcast for them and any similar audio I might produce in the future. It’s not up yet due to various technical problems with the host I planned to use, but I hope to get it working eventually.

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Ten of Spades: The Fungus Who Ruled the World


 

Qui domine le monde? Fistulina hepatica?

I am the master of my environment. The king of the fifth kingdom. My sweet chestnut tree delivers all the nutrients I need. I have no need for even a brain to live in this paradise on a lesser creature. Nothing needs to change; even in the far future, if my tree dies, my descendents can continue to feed on it. This forest belongs to us.

With food security like this, it does not matter that I am incapable of surviving without my host.  I have everything I need. I do not need to move, I do not wish to move, and, because a perfect design has no superfluous features, I have no ability to move.

And yet, I am moving. I am being pulled from my life source. Pulled by something even more powerful than myself.

 

I can no longer pretend that I am the master of my environment, above the rest of the animal kingdom. I can not go on as a parasite on less fortunate creatures, raising and killing them just because I have a big enough brain to know how. Something has to change. There are simply not enough resources to continue transforming large amounts of food into small amounts of meat. I want something to be left for my descendents. This forest belongs to nobody, and we have no right to destroy it for pasture.

I’m perfectly capable of surviving without meat. I can get all the nutrition I need from fruits, vegetables, chestnuts from the forest, mushrooms… ah, now here’s a beef steak I can eat without troubling my conscience.

I pull the beefsteak fungus from the treetrunk and take it home for dinner. I need not exercise my power over nature tonight.

 

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Eight of Spades: Fork and Tongs


Eight of Spades featuring Lake Lucerne (Lake of four cantons)You’re not like all those other tools,
fond only of their wieners.
Yet even as your fire cools,
I see a snag between us.

Why won’t you be my Montague?
I’d be your Juliet.
I see you at the barbecue
embracing Andouillette.

That pig, I’d like to pierce her through,
and feed her to the cat.
She’s full of tripe, she smells of poo,
The wurst, a spoiled brat.

She sizzles near your tenderloins,
that visc’ral vivisection.
My tines vibrate as she purloins
the flames of your affection.

I come in closer, she’s dead meat.
I touch you with a tine.
You see my points, I feel your heat,
and briefly, we entwine.

And then I see the sausage roll
to ashes in disgrace.
It’s my turn now, I’ll take control,
I vow, I’ll take back space.

We’re stronger than the sausage link,
I’ve seen our stars align.
And later in the kitchen sink,
I know that you’ll be mine.

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Seven of Spades: Happy, Ending


Two sevens of spades, one showing sheep, with a knife and fork magnet, and one plain. The words \This is the story of the happy ending,
where Mary and her little lamb play.
Of lamb, from human girl befriending,
to lessons in happiness stray.

Where Mary and her little lamb play
it’s tiring, so Mary would take it
to lessons, in happiness, stray.
A lamb, what a day it would make it!

It’s tiring, so Mary would take it
Said Father that very same night.
A lamb! What a day. It would make it?
That it would just wake, be alright!

Said Father that very same night
“You’ll bury what’s left.” No impression
that it would just wake, be alright,
its grave but a little depression.

You’ll bury what’s left no impression;
the sick one had not been her friend.
It’s grave, but a little depression
would not bring her world to an end.

The sick one had not been her friend,
she prayed in her panic that he
would not bring her world to an end.
He slaughtered the neighbours, not Mary.

She prayed in her panic that he
would not murder, hurt a loving soul mate.
He slaughtered the neighbours, not Mary.
The friends survive, rejoice, and ruminate.

Would not murder hurt a loving soul, mate?
No matter if a stranger, or a roast?
The friends survive, rejoice, and ruminate
why it’s okay to lose the farthermost.

No matter if a stranger or a roast
of lamb. From human girl befriending:
Why, it’s okay to lose the farthermost.
This is the story of the happy, ending.

 

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