I’m a Meat Eater

by David Lawrence

I saw a mouse at Vivolo Italian Restaurant and told the waiter.  He killed it with a broom. 

 

I felt guilty.  I had planned to order a meatball hero.  After seeing the dead mouse I couldn’t eat a steer. I walked out.

 

I remembered thirty years ago when I went pretend-vegetarian.  I got weak and turned green after six months. I bought a juicy steak.

 

I want to be good.  I don’t want to eat animals.  But when I’m hungry, screw it.  I might as well stick with the tradition of meat gobbling.  Man always has.  I’m not a liberal, someone who pretends he is better than he is or flamboyantly protests one unaesthetic habit while he hides another bad one.

 

I’m a meat eater.  I’m no better than that.  I tell my climate-obsessed friend, Joe, that Obama isn’t going to stop the waters from rising with his idiotic global warming pretense but he is going to bankrupt our country and leave us subject to attack.

 

Reagan made the economy strong and stocked up on weapons so that Russia had to tear down that wall.  He achieved peace through strength.

 

Every Muslim believes in masculinity and strength. They make billions off oil.  Is this the time, when they’re developing nuclear weapons, for our President to ruin our economy and apologize to Arabs for our previous exceptionalism.

 

What is Obama?  He is dart board on which Democrats pinup their stupidity.

 

A few blocks from Vivolo I stop at Soup Burger.  I order a greasy burger, fries and a coke. It’s delicious but not exactly on Michelle Obama’s menu.  But then again I’m stronger and thinner than she is.  I’m sixty-five and could do fifty pull-ups until I tore my rotator cuff last month. Both she and her husband talk but don’t act.

 

That’s a mouthful.  Of good burger.