Veggie Tales

Every once in a while I get a wild hair to do something shocking, absurd, and downright inexplicable. It is with that preface that I admit I'm off the bird. You heard correctly, no more pork on my fork.

Before you get all up in arms, know that this decision has nothing to do with newfound religious beliefs or a sudden inability to eat something with a face. Intelligent Design, er, evolution gave us incisors for a reason; to cleave through succulent slabs of animal flesh. And the cuter the tastier I say.

"Wook how pwecious." And deeeee-licious

No, lovelies, this is a personal challenge. A friend of the Gorgeous is getting hitched and his bachelor party is closing with an end-all, be-all steak dinner. If absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, I have six weeks to fall in love all over again. It'll be like that first Frisco speedball after a month in detox, which is to say a terrible, yet transcendent, idea.

Fret not for I am still grubbing on fish and other sea creatures. I figure if the sack-loving Catholics don't qualify it as meat there is no reason for me to.

So what will happen? Will this meat deficiency render me Bruce Banner-like; an apoplectic, jort wearing madman wreaking havoc on livestock like the Hulk on stocking-capped no goodniks? Whatever the outcome, you, loyal lovelies, can expect hilarious anecdotes highlighting my vegequarian escapades.