THE 'REAL' MEAT SCANDAL. RIGINAL.
As Jung probably would have sung when he found a 'buzzing' scarab beatle which defecated in his burger during his mental illness 'lunchbreak' from the searing heat of reality from whench he misfired mentally into a 'self proclaimed' prophet. "Love, love me poo...y'know I love you, I'll always be true, so pleaseeese...love me pooo..."
That's a beatles song. The beatle no doubt would have retorted,"for shit sake love mine and enough already of the 'flimsy shrink babble.'" I accidently swallowed a bullant t' other day, whole! It crawled through my intestines and scrabbled into my outer tum from within my inner-self the words," BULLSHIT." And aint' that what claptrap typophication presents itself in the newspaper everyday? "Hundreds of worshippers pray at 'weeping' house." Religious Rattle snake rattles off lotto numbers after frenzied worshippers feed it $100 notes. Actually a de-gutsed (innards removed) snake with false 'poisoned fangs' stretched over the arm of a 'healer.' The proffered 'donations' disappear up under the 'healer's' armpit to reappear in his bank balance midst chanting of "get thee behind me (armpit) oh foul devil of monetary gain and to hell with small change brothers!"
Anyway, enough of mankind's stupidity and grasping for the elusive holy grail as to why we are here. We are here to suffer intestinal delight via burgers. I wrote this piece many years back whereupon a rodent's head was found in a burger,FACT! Was pon bright sunny day in takeaway. MY burger worshipping kids found something far worse than a rodent's head in their commercially made-straight off the revolving culinary fan belt mayhemery. Something so revolting. REAL MEAT!
The resulting trauma devastated my family. The franchise owner apologized sneeringly. Went out back and returned with a bucket of breeding cockroaches. Coaxed the cockroaches onto the bun playingfield using the genuine meat as bait. Withdrew the real meat as one would do the old, 'slip out the tablecloth' leaving the glasses intact on the table. Only the open-mouthed glassy-eyed confused roaches remained. Conned by 'slight of ham'just like the snake healer up to his armpit in hisspositionary "fangs to the lord above" and be banked/blessed numb numb followers of such scaly skullduggery. Those burgers were nutritionally 'balanced.' IE: Roaches balancing on one leg as t other was jammed in the beetroot.Can't beet a good one of them when you're down?
I firmly believe genuine meat has no place whatsoever in our rustic take-away culture. It has taken eons and Mrs Eons literally tears and years to develop their 'state-of-the-art 'artistic' bent to promote total real meat abstinence. The integral framework of an Aussie burger is only considered dinky-di with a smattering of local fresh insect population. Add a rustic rusted paper clip or three and you have the contents to begin a burger scrapbook. This idea came about after the kids found the aforesaid scrapbook-cover intact-in an artistic burger, personally handsigned by a drop dead gorgeous fly that sacrificed its life for the betterment of a flysome flyby flie's suicide bombing raid headfirst into a traumatised half-cooked egg strangled by half-browned lettuce leaf pre-tortured in China by the winds of Chance (Chance Chung the brown greengrocer no less).
It's was a real geological treat for we parents to sit at the table and hear the squeals of absolute joy escaping the excited lips of our kids as they opened their gravy-impregnated scrapbook and mix-n-match the assorted clips, toenails, biros, cat whiskers, occasional cat, gravel, left-over roach legs,with the all important blowfly blowshit.
As you all know kids are never satisfied with the ordinary. They search for the ultimate and each night pray for the same to appear in a stale bun.The ubiquitous rodent's head! Preferably with fur but not too fussed as a transplant from the cat would suffice.As long as the head is intact and a reasonable grin on its donatory head. Only last week my son's playmate opened up his 'whoppa wacker bigga boss burger bum bun' to find the proprietor. Fully dressed in 3 month old greasy coveralls-asleep on a flyblown stool residing also asleep on a greasy chair. My lot were so jealous you could cut the envy with a roachified spatular! Kids! Some get lucky. Some have to wait and put up with the mundane. Some grow up jealous, and rubbish other kid's burgers...with spit! I ate dirt as a kid,didn't you? cheers...
PS: memo to m09 and Inmyredhead. Thanks for the kind thoughts. Incidently m09, critics come out of the literary woodwork when they feel threatened by the vibrations of talent. They don't like their boats to be rocked! How dare you dip your oars in their sacred beliefs! With God's help you may create a ripple...! cheers.