If you're into raw cuisine, this ain't the place for you.

You want to hear something so arsed out that even I can't wrap my warped mind around it?

My entire family, with the exception of myself, my fiancee, and my mom, have started eating "raw cuisine." Just forget, if you can, how bad Thanksgiving is going to be this year, and try to focus on the fact that they are condemning us for not joining them.

So here's the story: My cousin (Spencer) has spent most of his life praying and obeying the words of wisdom Joseph Smith pulled out of his arse. I bet that fucker's still laughing. Now he has a stage 4 aggressive brain tumor and has been given two years to live, and that's with radiation therapy.

His older brother is on the diet (when he's around the rest of the family, that is), and he's so out of shape he can't walk up half a flight of stairs without hanging onto the rail and gasping for breath, and the same applies to the youngest of the three brothers. The eldest is 6'2" and weighs close to 400 pounds, the youngest, 5'6" and 250+, the middle, 5'8" and 333 (the doctors keep us posted on his weight due to radiation), and none of the extra weight is muscle. Their wives are in no better shape, either, especially the middle son's (the one with cancer, just to avoid confusion), who is a whopping 5'3" and well over 300 pounds. Her knees don't bend. When she sits on a couch, her legs stick out like a baby's arms. She can't walk down a flight of stairs without gasping for air.

No one on this goddamn diet is in any shape and they've been living healthy all their lives. Not eating healthy, mind you, since they didn't get fat eating bean sprouts and shooting wheat grass. No drinking. No smoking. No fucking caffeine. I can go on about how tall they are, how much they weigh, and how unhealthy they are, but I think you get my point.

While at Spencer's house not too long ago, they all tried to get me to do a shot of wheat grass with them. I refused, and of course I got jumped. Much like back in third grade when damn near every black kid in school picked on the skinny little Irish fuck, I held my own. I called them out on their bad habits. I told them that they're not going to undo years of damage, or cure cancer, with a crash course in raw veganism. By the way, from what I can tell, the woman who wrote the book that changed their lives looks like wet leather stretched and dried over a fence post. Yeah, I want to take advice from a skeleton with skin. I'd rather go on a zombie diet. At least then I don't need to think of creative ways to get protein (insert cum joke here).

I'm not going to go into my mom's health because she has a lot of problems due to her age (and a brown recluse bite on her leg), but my fiancee and I both have high-stress jobs. We drink like the Micks we are. We have horrible eating habits because of our jobs. We sleep like crackwhores because of our hours. Would you like to know the biggest problems we have? Nerve deafness from birth, and bad knees from hockey, respectively.

We can both work circles around anyone in the family and I'm pretty sure we're gonna outlive the rest of them (and that's not a cancer joke, so I'd appreciate it if any cancer survivors and family members, etc. would not leave rude comments).

It's going to take something more life-altering than watching my brother-in-law throw up from a shot of wheat grass to get me to stop eating meat, so don't think preaching to me about animal cruelty is going to make me change my mind. Just do me a favor and respect the fact that I'm not dunking you in in cow entrails because you don't eat meat.



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The one where I shatter your useless testicles.

As I've said before, one of my favorite thing is cooking. One of my least favorite things, as you should fucking well know, is bullshit in any form. I go to a Culinary Arts technical school. Some folks there are like I am; they want to cook and for whatever circumstance, whether it be finances, location, family issues, etc., can't go to a decent school with a good reputation. Most of the fuckers there, however, are there because they can't do anything else. For example, their guidance counselors, sometimes court-appointed, will ask "what's your favorite thing?" And the student-to-be will respond with something like "cherry pie" or "fried chicken and biscuits" and the counselor, gleefully, will exclaim, "you must want to be a cook!" before moving on to the next contributing member of society and make a similar diagnosis regarding people who like reading Hustler and cosmetology.

Some of the latter are in the kitchen I'm studying in now. One asshole in particular, I'll call him "Crisco" since he not only uses it in every recipe, he looks like if I were to punch him in the face, my fist would slide off because of the grease content of his skin, can't fucking cook. Every single thing he touches turns to shit. I can't stress just how much he fucks up. He doesn't know how to make caramel, and anyone who knows even the basics of baking or desserts knows how to fucking make caramel.

But he's not content with fucking his own food up and failing the class; he insists on fucking everyone else's projects up. He will try to make sure no one's looking and punch all the air out of someone's proofing bread dough. He'll turn the fan in the convection oven on high when someone puts a cake in to the batter gets blown to shit. He'll sneak drops of food coloring in to make a pretty green into a baby-shit brown.

Here's my personal favorite: The school has an 800-pound floor mixer
used for making very large quantities of bread dough. I learned the hard way that it malfunctions and sometimes turns itself back on briefly and does a few revs around the bowl. This happened the other day to me while I was making doughnuts and pinned my hand between the hook and the mixer when I was scraping the bowl down. Note: Don't call me a moron for this because scraping the bowl down is necessary; now I just turn the mixer at the breaker before I do since I had to go to the emergency room because everyone who saw it thought my hand was broken. I'm surprised it wasn't. Had the mixer been on a higher speed or done a few more revs around, my hand would have been shattered. Anyway...back to Crisco.

In my rush to the hospital, I left my thermometer there. I got back the next day to find out that my thermometer had been shattered. I thought someone had dropped it, which would have been an honest mistake. A few witnesses told me that Crisco saw it and started slamming it against the table until it was in pieces. I confronted him about it and asked him if he planned on paying me for the thermometer he shattered for the fuck of it. He got a deer-in-headlights look and said "what thermometer?" I kicked him in the balls so hard he will be tasting his own jizz for a month. I hope to Christ I made him useless to a woman. Or a man. He threw up on the sidewalk and I walked away. He hasn't been at school since.

So I have some advice for you: If you're tired of someone else's bullshit, do something about it. I'm not telling you to shatter someone's nuts because you can get in serious trouble for that and you're probably stupid enough to try to sue me for it. What I am saying is there are always measures you can take to put someone in their place, no matter how extreme.

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