Last week I judged a Burger Competition.

  • Last week I judged a Burger Competition. My least favorite was a new burger made from cow stem cells. It really lacked the satisfaction I get from knowing an animal was slaughtered
  • & hung for dead, I normally like things that are well hung. Hubbahubba, but this stemcell cow thing tasted like rubber, I normally like the taste of rubbers. The winning burger had
  • a salty but somewhat creamy sweet taste. I felt like it slide down my throat with so little effort that it kinda shocked me. Yes, this stemcell cow burger filled my desire for
  • beef, but it left me wondering if it would keep me satisfied long enough to find the real thing. My whole life I was told that simulating the act could be satisfying, but I was
  • now wondering why Grandfather had been so insistent on that point. Could it be that, denied any real, sensual gratification himself since1954, he'd decided to take revenge on me
  • . The smell of moth balls and prune juice gags me. It's grandfather PTSD. If only I hadn't been forced to work on his farm in Iowa every summer, I might not be so f'ed up now.
  • But, I still found comfort in the smell of mothballs. The tricky part was getting their little legs spread apart without hurting them. But, it made the time with grandpa bearable.
  • Grandpa was boring to the point that made watching water evaporate thrilling. He'd been the chief vice-measurer of all the baseboards in the post offices in the Midwest. He'd
  • prattled long enough. In walked sassy interior decorateur Niecy Nash. She grabbed grandpa by his mustache and said, "Spice up those baseboards with high-gloss ruby enamel, or else
  • the room will be unbalanced and your 'feature wall' of massive flowers will overwhelm the senses leading to mental collapse." So grandpa painted them white.


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