Spam. Not the internet kind...
How the hell can anyone eat SPAM? Y'know, that gross thing they call "meat" that comes in a can? The stuff that Save Ferris made a song about?
I have poor judgment. There I was, making myself some eggs and toast, when I think, "Gee. I'd love to have some meat with this." I look in the fridge and there's nothing there I'd want to touch. A little bit of thinking occurs and I remember that we have spam.
So I take out a can. I've made my decision, as I take the ring that's on the top to open it. I'm going to eat this spam, even though I'm fully aware that I loathe the stuff. I jerk the ring, not even sure if I know what I'm doing, and the ring comes off with a twist. Lovely.
After busting out the can opener, opening it, dropping it onto a paper plate, and viewing its glory as a large rectangle of meat in watery juice, I slice it. It's so easy to slice into. Probably so that people with no teeth can eat it.
Placing a few slices onto my frying pan, I put the rest in a tupperware and refridgerate it. Oh, maybe I'll eat that later, though I doubt it. After browning this infernal meat, I place it onto my plate. I take a bite.
There's something small and hard somewhere when I chew. I chew several times more, trying to bring the imposter to the front. Dandy, it must be that little piece of egg shell I accidentally left in my eggs.
Not so.
It happened TWO MORE TIMES. Maybe someone lost their teeth in the meat grinder, but I can't stomach this. I will not take another bite of you, Spam. You may be soft and old folks who can't eat steak may like you, but I know who you are and I know what you have hidden inside.
I still have two slices of you on my plate, and 3 slices worth in the fridge. I want to throw you away and forget that this ever happened. But I can't waste food like that. It was my fault. I have poor judgment.
Should I give it to the dog? The one that eats the meaty scraps my grandmother brings home from the family restaurant? No. I doubt he'd eat you either.
I have poor judgment. There I was, making myself some eggs and toast, when I think, "Gee. I'd love to have some meat with this." I look in the fridge and there's nothing there I'd want to touch. A little bit of thinking occurs and I remember that we have spam.
So I take out a can. I've made my decision, as I take the ring that's on the top to open it. I'm going to eat this spam, even though I'm fully aware that I loathe the stuff. I jerk the ring, not even sure if I know what I'm doing, and the ring comes off with a twist. Lovely.
After busting out the can opener, opening it, dropping it onto a paper plate, and viewing its glory as a large rectangle of meat in watery juice, I slice it. It's so easy to slice into. Probably so that people with no teeth can eat it.
Placing a few slices onto my frying pan, I put the rest in a tupperware and refridgerate it. Oh, maybe I'll eat that later, though I doubt it. After browning this infernal meat, I place it onto my plate. I take a bite.
There's something small and hard somewhere when I chew. I chew several times more, trying to bring the imposter to the front. Dandy, it must be that little piece of egg shell I accidentally left in my eggs.
Not so.
It happened TWO MORE TIMES. Maybe someone lost their teeth in the meat grinder, but I can't stomach this. I will not take another bite of you, Spam. You may be soft and old folks who can't eat steak may like you, but I know who you are and I know what you have hidden inside.
I still have two slices of you on my plate, and 3 slices worth in the fridge. I want to throw you away and forget that this ever happened. But I can't waste food like that. It was my fault. I have poor judgment.
Should I give it to the dog? The one that eats the meaty scraps my grandmother brings home from the family restaurant? No. I doubt he'd eat you either.