I’m at a backyard barbeque. Our host is a dapper little man. White shirt, balding. An accountant type. I’m there with the cast of a show and one of the other actors tells me the dapper little man has a most unusual cooking technique. He only disables the animals on the menu before roasting them […]
It was driving behind one of those horrific Auschwitz Farms chicken trucks a while back that did it. Pushed me over the edge. Over the edge and into the patchouli-scented arms of vegetarianism. Four weeks and counting. Or not counting, actually. Because I don’t miss it at all. Meat, that is. Surprise, surprise.
