The Grunt is out of commission for a while. Please, spend the time that you'd normally spend here with a loved one.
(Update: You can spend that time with a cute animal if you want. I'm just saying that I don't know how much of a break I'm going to need. I also added a tiny joke. Hell, I could even post tonight, but it isn't likely.)
I don't know about you, but I am sick and tired of taking care of my waffle iron's feelings after it goes through a nasty breakup. As you can see in this illustration, recreating a scene from today's breakfast, I am consoling my waffle iron after the toaster oven left him for another appliance. That bread mixer is such a slut. But damn, if I don't feel that I am the one really getting hurt here. How in the hell am I supposed to start my day off right if I don't have my fucking waffles, fer cryin' out loud?
You know, if it isn't one thing it's another with this damn waffle iron. The other day it beeped me a Morse code explaining how it aspired to be an actor. Seriously, I just don't know what to do with him--assuming that it is indeed a male. So, getting tired of having an anthropomorphic kitchen appliance, I took this waffle iron into the bathroom to have a long stare into the mirror under the most unforgiving florescent lighting. I told it to repeat after me, "I am a goddam waffle iron, not a character off of the 'O.C.'" It just broke down completely and now I won't be having any waffles for a long time now. Shit, why are relationships so damn hard?
I was talking to my dad today about some slides that he had. I was able to acquire some carousels off of Ebay for him and he started digging out old pictures as well as slides. I won't go into many details, but he started talking about my grandma Gennie's life. Gennie is my grandpa Vern's wife. She was seeing an Italian coal miner and got pregnant with my aunt. Well, two months before my aunt was born they got married. Her first husband died the day that my aunt was born. I could not believe that, but it was true. I am glad that things did work out. Vern was 11 years older than Gennie, and also a coal miner at the time. They got married within a year of her first husband's death.
My dad talked a bit more about my grandmother and the subject of her older brother's death came up. He died in the great flu epidemic in 1907, I think it was. My grandmother wasn't even born yet, but the story of this young man (he was only fourteen) is heartbreaking. The family wasn't able to have a funeral for him. The way things were with the epidemic, the family had to place his body on their porch and someone hauled off the body in a wheel barrow. I can't imagine what that would be like to see your loved one handled in this manner.
That picture above and to the right is my grandma and her baby--my pops. As you can see their life was rather "Grapes of Wrath" like. What you see in the background is their home, something that now would most likely be the size of someone's tool shed. My father remembers seeing Vern come out and take a pig that my dad just was playing with and sit on it, put his fingers up its snout. Vern would hold this pig's head back that way and then slit its throat. It was just how it was and my dad was used to it as a kid. As much fun as that pig would make as a pet, it was better as food on the table. If you want to know how my father's family made it out of the mining camps, click on the link "Vern" that is at the top of this post.
On a side note: Do you guys go back and read my replies to your comments? I think they are just as good as my posts. If you don't read them, then I probably should be spending my time focusing on posts. I'm just putting that out there.
Have you ever felt microphonic? You get a signal or a tap on the shoulder and it makes you scream: Have things that touched you only resulted in you touching back harder? It isn't your fault that you bounce back what comes your way--you just do it louder.
I can honestly say that I did not feel sexy today.
Wonder Woman left her lasso here. Does anybody know a number where I can reach her?
Has a stray dog ever looked so deep into your soul that you gave it all of your money, even your traveler's checks?
I want my epitaph to read, "Died while eating a cannoli."
Mountain Dew and a Snickers Bar may very well contribute to a sudden burst of energy that will enable me to rescue a family from a burning house someday. This is why I will continue this routine for my entire life.
Metal film resistors are much better at reducing noise levels in audio than carbon composition types. They are more temperature stable as well. Come on, I thought at least one of you would find this information useful.
Has a stray dog ever looked so deeply into your soul that you found yourself naked the next morning in a hotel room with no idea how you got there, or where "there" is?
You got those birds and a pair of these to go with them... I will try to make you laugh some more. I enjoy that very much. So, without further ado, White Swan, I leave you with this...
A lady goes to her priest one day and tells him, "Father, I have a problem. I have two female parrots, but they only know how to say one thing.
"What do they say"? the priest inquired.
They say, "Hi, we're hookers! Do you want to have some fun?"
"That's obscene!" the priest exclaimed. Then he said; "You know, I may have a solution to your problem. I have two male talking parrots, which I have taught to pray and read the Bible. Bring your two parrots over to my house, and we'll put them in the cage with Frank and Jacob. My parrots can teach your parrots to pray and worship, and your parrots are sure to stop saying that phrase in no time".
"Thank you," the woman responded, "this may very well be the solution."
The next day, she brought her female parrots to the priest's house.
As he ushered her in, she saw that his two male parrots were inside their cage, holding rosary beads and praying. Impressed, she walked over and placed her parrots in with them. After a few minutes, the female parrots cried out in unison: "Hi, we're hookers! Do you want to have some fun?" There was stunned silence. Shocked, one male parrot looked over at the other male parrot and exclaimed, "Frank, Put the beads away, our prayers have been answered".
I was walking off a football pitch just North of Firth Park in Sheffield and stared at the soil and empty crisp packets and realized that I had chaffed ass cheeks from running around all day. I mean it really hurt bad. I also suck at footie. I remember feeling pretty down that little girls could run circles around me with a football. I also remember feeling out of place with my surroundings and my purpose for being there. Just overall not being able to understand accents and the people. Yeah, I was one of those guys who went around trying to save your soul, once upon a time. Now, I'm almost too busy trying to save my own to recall those days. God, it is weird to me. Those memories are like reading a book about someone else's life. I don't know why I am even posting this stuff. I agreed to not talk about it expressly, ever, on here. I don't think I will. You got a peek. Now it is time for you all to be all mystified and shit.
Nothing says outrageous, manly-man super powers, "BEWARE!!!", than a testosterone enhancing wolf shirt. If you dare question this claim you'll have to get through this guy to prove it.
I once was feeling rather sand kicky in facey once and had to buy three cougar shirts to even get hard. I bought one wolf shirt and I was lifting up 50 lb. dumb bells with my Grunt staff, using a specially designed harness given to me by none other than Joe Weider himself.
So, moral of the story: Don't waste your time on lesser "macho" enhancing shirts--go for the wolf. Wolf shirts are TIGF!!! in a super masculine way. Girls, you can also try on a wolf shirt. You will be able to fend off would be rapists 75% faster and twice as deadly. Not to mention, it is a good way to attract female companionship, if so oriented. Or if you want to surprise your man, you could attract a mullet wearing lesbian tag-team partner for the bedroom, wearing a wolf shirt.
Just remember, if you are wearing the wolf shirt in the relationship, you are the butch not the femme. I'm not sure what happens when both partners wear them. I'm thinking that total awesomeness breaks out and you have to call the fire department to put that sucker out.
It's been awhile since I've shown my face around here. I had this one on file ready to go for some time. I swear my hand his larger than my head. Just think, I can make love to that man anytime I want. Oh, the lengths I will go for a joke. Ahahahaha...length!
I was thinking about virgin drinks, like margaritas and such. Well, there must be some kind of "virgin" substitute for supposed and real deviant sexual behaviors. I would like to suggest chocolate as a way of having a "Virgin Dirty Sanchez" performed on you or given to your mate. Tootsie Rolls will also make a great "Virgin Abraham Lincoln", that is if you are in a pinch. Ahahahaha...pinch!
I am thinking of a fictional guest star to have on my blog. I was thinking that maybe I should have a priest or minister that tries to be all hip and shit---you know, the type that tries too hard to put the mack on the ladies and down with the youth and all. I think I already have a real life example of such a person to base this on. I plan on having more than one guest star on my blog. I'd even let you, yes one of you, guest host my blog for a day or two. Help me out with this, alright? I know that Christielli has dibs on me first with this guest appearance by a fictional/or real-impersonated character thing, so get in line. Ahahahaha...thing!
I visit the dead on a regular basis. My dead loved ones and relatives, and the people who's headstones that captivate me in one way or another. These were all real people at one time and I feel are beings existing still. Anastasia is one of these real people that have passed on that captivate me.
I was visiting my great grandmother, of whom I never met in real life. But, I do know enough about her to have a connection. It was at that cemetery where Anastasia caught my, well, my brother's eye. Her laser-etched image scared the deuce biscuits outta him. We were about 70 yards away and he thought he saw a ghost. I decided to get a closer look at his would be ghost and this is what I saw. She was only 17 and died last year. That is sad. Whomever she left behind must have loved her a lot.
I wonder what kind of life this beautiful young woman had going for her. What kind of student was she in high school? She was, no doubt, a senior when she died. What kind of boys did she like and how did they treat her? What was her family like? How are her parents and family dealing with this loss? How did she die? What is this girl's story? I think about these things when I look at monuments, some ornate like this one, some not so ornate or detailed. This I know, she is still someone's valentine. Someone is still holding a torch for her. I wonder if that guy/girl will ever get over her? That I don't know and is the story that most fascinates me.
Happy Valentine's, Gruntonians. I'd give you all a big hug and a kiss if I could, but that would require compromise in some cases, broken hearts in others, husbands killing me in most, and mutual "Eh, 's'alright dude. High five?" 's. Will a game of Twister suffice?
(Note: I took this with my camera phone. It is lo-fi, but you can tell how polished the stone is by how it caught my reflection. I took many more photos, but they aren't for this post. Some other time, perhaps.)
Okay, I know that you all want to know how many blogs I have had. Lessee? It has been about seven. I used to just come up with new concepts on a whim and blog on that concept until I got bored. Lately, I have been doing a lot of staring into space. I try to email people back. I try to visit your blogs and leave comments, but I end up staring at the screen and then realize that 30 minutes have passed. I have been dealing with insomnia again. It seems that sitting in front of the TV has been more relaxing than anything else. I never knew that QVC could be so soothing.
Anyway, this post is from my own private blog (made solely to amuse myself) called, "(My name)'s Blog: Shattered dreams & come from behind sports drama. Also, I'm making predictions on how Huewy Lewis will save the world." I haven't got to Huey Lewis or any of the other stuff mentioned. But, I did interview Scott Baio of "Charles in Charge" fame. Here's my first post of that blog. I have swapped in "Grunt" with my real name.
Welcome all to my Seventh Blog: Special guest appearance by Scott Baio
Greetings all! Grunt here, taking precious time away from my main blog, Grunt Ahoy!, to welcome you to my side project devoted to "has been" actors, runner-up prom queen spies, and my devotion to the cause of cheese and beef jerky awareness--did you know that they make a great after school snack?
We have a special guest with us today: Scott Baio.
Grunt!: How have you been, Scott?
Scott Baio: Just terrific.
Grunt!: Can I call you "Charles in Charge"?
Scott Baio: What, you want to call me after a character of mine?
Grunt!: Yeah, is that a problem?
Scott Baio: Well, it is a bit weird, but alright.
Grunt!: Charles in Charge, how long has it been since you've last smoked crack in an alley?
Scott Baio: Wait, what did you just say?
Grunt!: Oh, I'm sorry. Was the crack question insensitive?
Scott Baio: Yeah...well, no. That's not the point. You called me "Charles in Charge".
Grunt!: Yeah, "Charles in Charge". I thought you were cool with that, no?
Scott Baio: I thought you were just going to call me "Charles".
Grunt!: Now why would I do that?
Scott Baio: Because that is the character's name, dip wad!
Grunt!: But, I don't wanna call you that; that's just stupid.
Scott Baio: Well, I don't like being made fun of and I feel that you are making fun of me by calling me "Charles in Charge".
Grunt!: Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you would take offense to being called "Charles in Charge", one of the best TV shows ever.
Scott Baio: Yeah, well, I do.
Grunt!: Do you want me to stop calling you "Charles in Charge"?
Scott Baio: Yes, please!
Grunt!: Okay then, Scott.
Charles in Charge: Much better.
Grunt!: Okay, now that's settled we can move on. Have you ever had a threesome with the gir....
Charles in Charge (interrupting me): Hey! What's that there to the side?
Charles in Charge: That on the side. You are typing my name as "Charles in Charge".
Grunt!: Is that a problem?
Charles in Charge: You know, I've had enough. I'm outta here, ya shmuck!
Grunt!: Ooooh, temper temper. Hey, where are you going?
Charles in Charge (flips me the bird).
Tune in next week, folks, as I interview Hogan's Hero star, Bob Crane's corpse. Until next time: ciao bella!
I changed my Youtube sidebar dealy again. It's Ian Dury and the Blockheads performing "Sex & Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll". Ian is my favorite funky cockney, or "Fockney". Um, or hows about this: funk=stank, so you can be a cockney stank, or for short, Cankney? Maybe Gentleman Hobbs can do a riff on this song--another being gifted with the "rhyme".
I know that when you enter Gruntonia some of my stories can sound far fetched. All are based on true events, and some are accurate to a "t", unless it is so silly your dog gets it. Satirical autobiography is somewhat of a high art that I have been gifted with. It doesn't surprise me that I get second guessed on some of the things that I write about. Take, for example, the previous post: I was really in my early twenties (21) when I got that poster, but I was merely riffing on the absurdity of poster love, teen fashion/cliques, and part requiem for Miss Smith. If any of you are unsatisfied with the Gruntonian spin, then shoot me an email and I can fill your mind further with boutique bullshit. Yeah, I'll sell it and you'll buy it. No, I can give you the facts, only after I have my fun first. Some of my most outlandish posts are direct tellings of events, believe it or not, and that is what I do most of the time. I repeat, this stuff is born of reality and spun like golden thread into the absurd posts you've grown to love me for. P.S. I live in many realities.
True life dream, for realsies: REO Speedwagon and Susan Hoffman of the Bangles uniting to make a pop supergroup, which ended in controversy when Kevin Cronin left the lineup over the heartbreak of being rejected by Susan Hoffman. This was a real honest to gosh dream I had, for realsies! They even played a "new" song, which I later determined, after having woke up, was in fact "Running on Empty" by Jackson Browne. Why was I dreaming about all of this? I have no clue. I haven't listened to REO Speedwagon or Susan Hoffman much at all recently and am not much of a fan of either of them. I do like old Jackson Browne, though. So, I'd like to ask this question: WTF, brain???
For realsies....Why do I use this? Is it for humorous reasons? Am I just indulging in a bit of infantile jargon, or as my Sociology professor would say, argot? Hmmmm, I am not sure, but I do enjoy that word, for realsies! I think I will start to incorporate more of this style into my writing. Help me out; give me some ideas.
Have you ever been trapped in a situation where it was really, really inappropriate to laugh, but something happens that pretty much makes you want to laugh so hard that to not laugh means certain death? Well, that happened to me today.
I will, on occasion, attend a church service to appease the family. I was, in this situation, in a gathering of men where a leader was engaged in lengthy, serious prayer and ordinance. This is a situation that makes me wish I were somewhere else, like getting an embryonic form of some gastrointestinal distress at a local choke and puke.
Ok, back to the story, we were sitting down on metal folding chairs. We all had our heads bowed in solemn prayer. Right in front of me was a smiling mentally handicapped man. This meeting was to run for about an hour. So, on with the ceremony: Heads bowed. A minute into this thing and the man in front of me lets out a massive fart. Not only was it louder than hell, but right in my face and lasted a good three seconds. The metal folding chair helped reverbrate the already "Gojira" like flatulence (see here and here for more on Gojira the movie and the band). So, I spend the initial moment in shock and disgust, then the rest of the hour trying not to laugh hysterically.
I tried covering up the occasional titter with a cough or deep sigh. I was praying to God to help me not to laugh. That didn't work, so I then started praying to Odin, Vishnu, Tezcatlipoca (Aztec god of discord, which was just asking for it). None provided me with any protection from Satan's imps that he delivered to keep replaying that epic cacophony experienced earlier. Hell, taking a cue from Homer Simpson, I even tried praying to Jebus, for crying out loud!
The longer I got from the incident, the more I fretted over laughing. If I laughed right when it happened I could see people giving me some kind of pass. Ten or twenty minutes down the road my laughing would surely have made them believe I was mentally unstable--which is still being discussed by a group of research psychiatrists working in Switzerland. The biggest problem for me was that everyone else seemed so damn unflappable. Which made me think, Why am I the only one here all "caca funny"?
Although I almost couldn't bear it any longer, I made it through the service without bursting out in laughter. I ran to my truck and started into violent fits of laughter. I recognized that this still would look wrong, so I drove of as fast as I could in tears, spitting all over my dashboard from my outbursts.
This is not an isolated incident for me. It is a problem I have: laughing at the most inappropriate times. I feel pretty good about myself that I maintained today. My stomach hurts so bad now. Anyone else have stories to tell like this?
What can I say about the most TIGF jeans in existence? I never owned a pair, that's what. I was strictly a 501s man, dabbled in acid but learned my lesson. However, it was the popular kids that wore these things, and I wanted to make all the popular kids eat shit and die. Yet, deep down inside I wanted to be one of them. Well, I never got to wear "rich kid" clothes. I didn't even own a pair of Air Jordans. What I did have was a Guess Jeans poster of Anna Nicole Smith.
While those popular kids, from well to do and overly religious families, tossed the Guess Jeans posters that came in Sports Illustrated or whatnot, my friends and I were collecting them and tossing off. Well, at least I was. What, you think I would cloister myself in my most productive period? Shee-it.
So, Anna leaves us on earth to wonder about all the various questions and eventual conspiracies about her life. I still have my Guess Jeans poster of her. I think I will get it out and tuck it into my pillow case tonight, just like I did when I was a teenage boy. Hell, I think I might even bust out my RHCP "Uplift Mofo Party Plan" cassette and get my TIGF on. Any of you care to join me--a TIGF slumber party in Miss Smith's honor?
I'm hoping that I will be visited by her ghost tonight. I will attempt to summon her spirit from the netherworld by going into my bathroom with the lights turned off, holding a candle, and say her name three times while looking into the mirror. I would settle for a level 6 haunting from her, whatever a level 6 haunting is. She could at least just show up in my room and yell "Trimspa baby!" Come on girl, you owe it to me. I'm holding a paranormal torch for you, Anna.
(Note: I've finally got around to adding a few, new fellow blogmates to my sidebar menu. Welcome Trundling Grunt, Barbarian, and Baceman! Also, I took the time to respond to all of your comments in the previous three posts. Check that out if you want to. Peace out!)
I got things sorted out with my buddy Dr. Vollewraithe, and he will be moving his stuff out of my place onto his new blog here. He really isn't for everyone. I personally loathe the man, but what can you do?
My totally new profile has left me with very few profile views. As a man who is obsessed with numbers, especially the number seven, I need you all to keep looking at my profile so that I feel popular.
I have changed my Youtube on the sidebar. It is The Buzzcocks live in 2006, doing their classic song "Orgasm Addict". They absolutely kick ass. I can't believe they are now in their 50s.
Just for added pleasure, here is the Bollywood "Thriller". It is highly addicting.
I think my cell phone is mocking me. It started playing a taunting jingle at me one night. It was that Harry Nilsson/Three Dog Night number "One" and it kept playing it over and over. I answered the phone, and to my surprise, I was on the other line.
Me: "What you doing up so late, Grunty?"
Me (for realsies): Um, I was just sitting around feeling stupid and lonely. I think an emotional hybrid of the two called 'flupie'. Yes, that's it, flupie."
Me: "Well, you are just sitting there in your undies doing nothing--I'm doing nothing--so, waddya say, huh?"
Me (for realsies): "What are you suggesting?"
Me: "I'm kind of lonely myself and I hear you are the best dirty talker in town. I could come over and see if that rumor is true."
Me (creeped out for realsies): This is some pretty effed up"The 6th Day"Arnie Schwarzenegger shit happening right here, Maht. Naw, I don't like to think I'm literally making love to myself when that goes down, brother."
Me: "Hey, it was just an idea. There's another plan."
Me (skeptical for realsies): "Yeah, what's that, a monkey in a tutu and a branding iron?"
Me: "No. You just don't trust yourself, do you. Our friend, Scott Baio, is in town and he is bringing the two girls from "Charles in Charge". I'm thinking we can distract Scott with some rock, and while he's hitting the pipe, we, as in me, can get it on with the goils, hehgehgehgehgeh! Oh, I cracks meeself ups. Scooodebedoodadooh, *toot-toot*"
Me (impressed for realsies): Wow, I thought my Popeye sucked ass until I heard it from you. Uh, me? Anyway, get me the hookup, Grunt. I'm so there."
Me: "Shit yah, bro. I got it all set. Wear your water wings."
I bought some finger cots today as part of a treatment for my skin breaking deeply on one of my knuckles (along with some mometasone furoate ointment from the pharmacy). I got them at a local chain drugstore. I thought the girl at the counter was in need of some humor and when she checked the box I said, "They're for my cat. He good with the ladies." Well, if you know me in real life, you'd know that I am wacky; plus, I don't have a cat. But, around the uninitiated I come across as dead serious and quiet--also giving off the impression that I just might own a cat for realsies. It's all part of the way that I constantly am sizing up everyone around me and it is rather fun. So, this girl did not get the joke and really gave me that, "OMG, you are one sick puppy" kind of look. It didn't seem to work, but I got a kick out of it.
This brings me to Guinea Pigs humping rabbits....Wha?
Okay, I have a small Youtube collection of videos that I have made. One of which was a clip of my nephew's pet rabbit and pet Guinea Pig being introduced to each other. I had just got my camera/video phone and thought it would be good to get this on video. I have not owned rabbits or Guinea Pigs, so I had no clue that this was a bad idea. To make a long story short, the Pig humped the rabbit all over the place and I got a bit of it on video. We all laughed like total idiots while I was filming it. After that, we broke it up and separated them for good. No creature was hurt, especially the Guinea Pig.
So, I had this clip on Youtube forever, and along with my other clips, hardly anyone looked at them. That was until Saturday night. I wake up on Sunday to find that I have a bunch of emails. I am used to this from the blogs that I keep and my various mail order bride businesses, but not from my long neglected Youtube account. I was curious about my new found fame. Well, it turned out to be infamy, not fame that I was now experiencing. I was a dog, a depraved sicko, to a group of Guinea Pig lovers and they wrote me some pretty horrible emails to me and comments about the video.
Apparently, rabbits are a danger to Guinea Pigs and they should never be around each other. Then they got all mad at me because the Guinea Pig, that was the aggressor and effer, looked "scared". Like I was filming a Super 8 porno and forcing this Guinea Pig into a downward spiral of indiscriminate sexual practices, drugs, and exposing it to further depraved things, such as my clown fetish. You know, that Guinea Pig does not work cheap. I had to totally skip my dinner plans at Wendy's that night to save a few bucks. These people don't understand how hard it is for an amateur film maker to break out into the mainstream, gosh!
I thought of playing around with these people and making reference to future projects, such as "Hamlet with Hamsters" and "What other cute furry animals can fit up Richard Gere's ass?" But, I just decided that I did not want to be known as the guy that made a "viral" video of inter-species copulation. So, I took it down forever. I won't even put it up here. Sorry, I know you all wanted to see something real freaky, but I had to do it.
I have seen a dog fugk a pig once. That was like "Babe" meets Fellini. Geez, what kind of sicko was I watching that? I should've had a camera.
I have found Clyde's (see here and here for more on Clyde) grandfather and will be taking ownership of him soon. "Methuselah" is a 1964 Chevy C10; you can call him "Thuzzy" for short. To the right is a picture of a short-box 1964 C10. Methuselah is a long-bed farm truck, sea foam green and white with plenty of rust and dents. I know how to take care of that problem. I'm thinking that its 292 CI six-straight bored and stroked to about 315-320 CI, with either three Weber side-draft carbs or a four-barrel conversion with a Paxton centrifugal super charger blowing hellfire into it, will be a nice change versus the typical V8 swap. Plus, a straight-six can get a tad better mileage, if driven right, and have better low-end torque.
I am excited. I really thought that I had the monkey-wrenching bug out of my system, but it turns out that I don't. Methuselah belonged to my brother in-law's grandfather and it has just been sitting in my brother in-law's driveway doing nothing but wishing it could be doing fishing trips or hauling hay. I have mad skillz when it comes to taking something ugly and making it fugly. I just need to fix my brother in-law's Mazda truck and my sister's Jeep Grand Cherokee and it will be all mine. I can hear plenty of "whys" on this one. This and guitar amplifiers are my anti-drug. It is part of loving the entire "me" that is Grunt--deal with it.
I like to examine the activity of the lobsters in any restaurant or market's lobster tank. There is an orgy going on in there. I really feel that the lobsters know of their impending doom, so they just go all Caligula at a clambake on each other. I figure that If I had been captured by aliens and knew that I were to be killed then eaten, I'd certainly want to just say "What ain't tied down is first! What is tied down is for later!" I mean, I think I know the real reason lobsters are all red when they are on your plate. That boiling water is just to get all the lobster tank love off of them...unless you are into that sort of thing. You know, whatevers it is you dig is your business.
If you were a lobster in a tank, what would your first act of carnality be? Remember, this is TIGF, so get into the spirit.
I thought about this today. What would taste better? No, seriously! I don't plan on eating either and I wouldn't recommend it to anybody; in fact, I am against such entirely. But, I still want your theories. I have a friend who had worked and lived in Asia for a substantial amount of time and had eaten, unwittingly, dog. He said it was pretty good. Now, that is pretty effed up, I know, but it is weird how you can be introduced to something considered vile and then find out that you really like it. See where I'm going with this? Is it worth trying everything vile, because you might find yourself in a situation where you are cork sniffing over the nuances of something very damning, or grotesque. Do you really want to find that out about yourself?