Why I’m a Vegan

I have a “real” story I tell people about why I decided to become a vegan. It’s pretty reasonable, doesn’t infringe on how other people want to live their lives, and makes a good bit of sense, all while being very ironic, and a little bit funny.

People hate that story, because I use it to justify being a vegan. I’m told that the way I’m supposed to be making that argument involves throwing blood on non-believers, hate crimes, and being insufferable at all meals. But that’s just not my style.

Because so many people hate my official explanation, I have had several years to ponder if there might be a more effective way to explain my non-threatening stance on veganism. The other day, it hit me.

If you are reading this blog, odds are nearly at 100% that you know someone with a dog who spoils it terribly. They treat it like a member of the family, it follows them everywhere, and it’s spoiled beyond all recognition. The people who most often do this are middle-aged housewives. Often, they have had several dogs over the years, and in many cases, each new dog looks suspiciously similar to the last.

If you know this dog owner well, you probably know how the previous dogs met their end, because this is one of the owner’s favorite things to talk about. Typically, the dog (after becoming grossly overweight) died of some form of organ shutdown. By the time the third dog enters the scene, it is often on an all-organic diet of special food. Sometimes, this food is more elaborate than the stuff its owners eat. It is generally high fiber, vegetable based, and low in calories.

That said, let me finally get to my point. On many, many occasions, I have been invited over to people’s houses only to hear the following story:
“I miss Fido II terribly. He was such an adorable dog, and he died so young. But then again, he did love those table scraps, right up to the point where he got fat and died."

::Pause, as I stare at the speaker::

"That’s why I only feed Fido III cooked beans and rice. Oh! That’s the kitchen timer! Meatloaf is ready dear, won’t you have some?”

“No thanks. I’ll have what Fido is having.”

Internet Quizzes Are Fun

To kill time, I recently took a two hundred question online survey that was designed to evaluate how healthy I am based on my lifestyle. It asked page after page of questions about my eating habits, exercise preferences, drug and alcohol use, medical history, sexual habits, sleep habits, height, weight, and hobbies.

At the end, it thought about my answers and told me that despite the fact that I had told it my birthday, I was actually 16.7 years old.

It’s a good thing it didn’t ask me anything about my politics, economic outlook, philosophies, or etiquette preferences. It might have told me I was 60.

As is, I pondered the curious results. Oh, right. All that crazy shit I do/don’t do.

I’ll bet if I took up some serious masturbation, I could get the computer to tell me I’m 15.

Heating Bill

I don’t pay for heating in my apartment. Instead, all of the apartments have single pipe radiators that run completely along the outside of all the outer rooms under a hidden hood. It works really well, is VERY hidden, totally quiet, and generally a feature I love.

I keep it turned off all winter.

My neighbors, by contrast, leave the valve controlling the water flow inside their pipes full open all winter. Their apartments get swelteringly hot as a result. How do I know this? Because when I open my windows (when it’s ten degrees below zero outside), my apartment cools down to a comfortable sixty-five degrees. That heat has to be coming from somewhere.

I’m not supposed to open my windows during the winter. The landlady actually drives around the complex every Tuesday and Thursday and checks for open windows. Last year, she called me up and left me a voicemail message telling me that if I didn’t close my window, she’d start charging everyone for heat.

I called the office back with some questions on this policy. I got the assistant manager. I told her that I kept my heat turned completely off. I was not wasting any energy. I told her that my apartment got way too hot if I closed the windows. I reassured her that my heat was completely off, and that my apartment was not frozen.

She listened politely and told me that she couldn’t care less what I did, and told me that the Landlady only checks for windows open on Tuesday and Thursday during a predictable one hour window.

Surprised, I thanked her, and we both hung up sounding pleased with ourselves. I now religiously keep my windows closed for those two hours every week. That’s apparently all it takes. I haven’t had any issues with this policy ever since.

Celebrities Are Filthy Whores

I make no secret of the fact that I hate the news. I read news articles and invariably think one of two things:
1) That story omitted all the important information.
2) This is an editorial in disguise.

For an example of the first type of story, please click the following link:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7258775.stm

Apparently, a large number of famous people are at risk of contracting Hepatitis A after they visited a swanky bar that employs a bartender who was recently infected. People who might have contracted the disease from this bartender include Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow, Ashton Kutcher, Demi Moore, Ivanka Trump, Liv Tyler, Catherine Keener, Lucy Liu, Salma Hayek, etc. etc.

As I said, the story omits one key piece of information. Specifically, WHAT THE HELL WERE THOSE PEOPLE DOING IN THERE THAT MAKES THEM THINK THEY GOT HEP A FROM A BARTENDER? Generally, I don’t care what celebrities do in their personal lives. But this here simply HAS to be a fascinating story. Hep A isn’t like the flu. It’s only transmitted from fecal-oral contact. That said, I have three theories.

Theory One:
“Hey Ashton! Madonna and I are going to play a game of ‘lick the bartender’s asshole! Want to play? Salma already got him nice and slippery!”

Theory Two:
“Wow, you celebrities are some thirsty people! But are you as committed to the environment as I am? Would anyone mind if I cut down on laundry waste by drying your glasses with toilet paper I brought back from the bathroom? I’m pretty sure I only used one side.”
“Sounds good!”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Manhattan’s fragile ecosystem must be protected!”

Theory Three:
“As your doctor, I am sorry to tell you that you have Hepatitis A.”
“Does it matter that I haven’t washed my hands since the Reagan administration?”

I think we can all agree that the article I referenced would be much more fun if it included any of these (likely) explanations.

You Need A Spanking

True story.

For months, my printer at home would print black and white pages perfectly, but instantly jam when printing in color.

This was really annoying, because after searching it three times, I simply could NOT find any evidence of any blockage, stuck gears, misalignments, etc.

Finally, it got to the point where I really wanted to print a few pages in color right then and there. I was ready to drive to Best Buy and get a new printer. Before I did, I decided to blow off a little steam at the annoyance I had let go on for so long. I unplugged the printer, carried it over to the counter, set it down, and gave it a vigorous spanking.

I then calmly picked it back up, brought it to the computer, and reattached it.

Problem solved.

Fun With Junk Mail

I thought I’d celebrate the economic recession by teaching you how to have fun for free. Put all the money you save by doing this instead of other fun things into savings. In a few years, you’ll be rich!

Sarcasm aside, I really do have a fun idea for you to try.

Do you get junk mail? Sure you do. Do you get lots of it? I’ll bet! Would you like to find the guy who sends it to you and kick him squarely in the nuts? Of course! Who wouldn’t?!

Here’s what you do: every day, go out to the mailbox. Be excited! You’re a rebel. Go through the mail and eagerly extract all the letters offering you credit cards, religious experiences, the chance to donate money to “worthy” causes, etc. Open these letters immediately.

These letters are special because they almost always contain a return envelope. Eagerly extract all of the free return envelopes out of your mail. Deposit the rest of the contents of these letters into your shredder.

The return envelopes that come in junk mail are special. They have fun messages on them like “No Postage Necessary If Mailed From Within The United States.” Those envelopes are your friends.

Take all of these empty return envelopes and lick them. Seal them carefully, then put them back in the mailbox. They will start a new journey through life as they target their original senders like brilliant heat-seeking missiles.

In a few days, they will have found the companies that sent you junk mail. Those companies will then be hit with your mail bombs. They will open them and scream in horror at their emptiness. Then the post office will send those companies a bill for $0.41. That’s forty-one cents that the companies who sent you junk mail will NOT be able to use to send you more.

Smile serenely to yourself. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as send a REAL mail bomb to junk mailers, but it’s extremely effective. Over time, it will help make sure that the only companies who have the money to send you mail are the ones with worthwhile goods or services.

I Test Drugs On Humans Without Their Consent

Some of you may recall that, not long ago, I created a quiz to tell an unlikely story. In that story, I explained that I was experimenting with flavoring the coffee at work by adding unusual, aging spices from my pantry.

A small handful of people thought – as I did – that this was interesting and often delicious. (My company buys us Torke Coffee. The oft-stated opinion of everyone who works here is that the secret ingredient is tar. Adding spices to cover the taste is a big improvement.)

Most people hated this. I was accused of making tea in the coffee pot. When I explained to people that it was full strength coffee, but that it no longer tasted like ass, I was accused of devious lies. Confused, I asked these people if they really thought the coffee was too weak. Yes. Yes, they did.

Ok.

Welllllllllllll. I might not have found this to be the most reasonable argument. And as time went on, and I showed people that the coffee was obviously being made with as many grounds as usual, they still told me the coffee was too weak. I might not have been impressed by this either.

Eventually, my rational side teamed up with my mischievous side and decided that this had gone on long enough. One boring day, I decided to run a little experiment. It was noon, and I wanted to make coffee. I usually make coffee with seven scoops of grounds, plus spices. Then people come to me to complain how much weaker it is than the coffee I make with seven scoops and no spices.

I made the coffee with twenty-one scoops of grounds, plus three times as much spice.

I poured myself a third of a cup, topped it off with hot water, and went back to my office.

Half an hour went by. The building manager went home for the day.

Another half hour went by. Suddenly, without warning, the building secretary informed her computer that, “GUUUUUURAH! I AM NOT INSANE!”

Another half an hour went by. The sober, middle aged men in the lunchroom began to entertain each other with impromptu solo renditions of rock songs from the seventies.

Another half an hour went by. The secretary shouted at my office, “Hey engineer, this is really good coffee!”

I find it disturbing that stuff like this is how I most often get compliments.