Food Snobs

I'm not proud of this, but earlier today I wasted $2.80 and sacrificed who knows how many years of my life on a holiday McIceCream of one sort of another.  I have no idea what the little bits of goop in there were that tasted like mint, but they were delicious. 

Later (now) I regret it, so I sent some samples of the bits of goop off to a forensics laboratory to see what they were made of. 

The results are in:  Scientists have no idea what the bits are made of, but the guy who worked in the factory where they were made stepped in some poop on the way to work.  The poop was from a rare species of gopher, found only in southern Malaysia. 

There was enough gopher poop in the minty bits to clog up their centrifuge. 

Seems like there are more food snobs than ever out there nowadays.  Maybe it's thanks to reality TV cooking shows where panels of elitist jerks are paid to find something wrong with every dish even if it was prepared by a master chef.  Maybe not, who the hell am I to judge?

Olive oil has to be fancy, in a dark bottle (never a can), first press, cold stored, and hand-delivered by a Tibetan monk on a moped. 

Butter must be hand-churned, clockwise, from milk cream that was extracted from the smartest cows, by Persian kittens.

We can't eat just "cottage" cheese, it has to be "mansion" cheese, or at least "uptown" cheese.  We'll eat suburban cheese in a pinch, or if we're on a road trip or something.  The cheese must be delivered by an old man in a Volkswagen.  I don't know why. 


We only buy apples that weren't clumsy enough to fall off the tree.  Our apples plummeted from the tree intentionally, in pairs and holding hands in a last testament of their undying love for each other.

Our eggs all come from hens that are married.  And monogamous.  

Of course, occasionally I still go for a gas station burrito.  That helps keeps me level, if not regular. 

Bone-a-appetite