A Metaphorical Vegan

I just want to start this by saying I promise I’m not a complete fucking idiot. Yes, I know that it’s extremely difficult to be something metaphorically without being something physically but let me explain. I would love to become a vegan. However I lack the self control to become a vegan. I want to drown in macaroni and cheese and I literally pop my pussy at any time for a McDouble. Don’t even begin to tell me all of these “yummy alternatives” when I lack both the will power and money to do so, which is why the vegan lifestyle is so appealing. I feel like being a vegan really makes you look like you 1. have your shit together and 2. have enough time and money to feel at ease and relaxed. When in reality I can’t even find my shit and I stress shit at least 4 times a week from work/school. I bet a vegan hardly ever stress shits, well if they do it’s probably just like around the holidays or during the election or some shit. I also feel like all vegans are good people. This is a broad statement but lets look into it: most vegans are vegans because they despise the treatment of animals, so how bad can be right? I mean I don’t think there’s a special place in hell for meat eaters where for all eternity the devil will fuck them up the ass while listening to the cries of animals, but I’m down with saving the cows and pigs. As I’m reading this I’ve realized I essentially just want to be a vegan for my own personal gain in the social hierarchy of life, go figure. Much love.

-K

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I love Football

Yep, you heard right love football. Me, the semi-athletic 16 year old girl who’s only experience with football was being a cheerleader (I couldn’t name 4 football positions) loves football. No, I am not saying this so boys will see it and want to shove their dick in me, I’m saying I love it because I do. But………it’s not the actual game I like, its the activity (and more specifically, the Super Bowl). I love the act of 60,000 people getting together to watch a bunch of 20 something year olds who are probably jacked on steroids throwing a ball around. I love the full on fights that occur between friends over the “best” teams, most of which end with someone being fully exposed for cheating on their wife of 15 years. I love seeing the veins that pop out of the old white mens’ necks as they yell at the referees through the television screen or over thousands of other people as if they can hear them (I’m looking at you dad, shut the hell up you scared the dogs). I love the copious amounts of bar food that many homes serve for the game. I fucking love hot wings and home-made guacamole. Most of all, I love seeing my brother, dad, and step-mom have a bomb ass time eating and drinking, while watching one of America’s favorite pastimes.

(I know this was sappy as shit get over it, my heart was present and full. You can expect the usual loathing tomorrow probably.)

-K