Maybe we should be vegetarians

Posted on June 3, 2014 by Max T Kramer

I hate to be the one to tell you this America but…we eat too much meat. With typical western decadence, we’ve taken a good thing: Meat, and completely crossed the line with it.

Don’t get me wrong. I like meat in all its myriad forms. I find it both scrumtrulescent and jillepsorius. I’m not saying that an 89 cent bacon covered steak and albatross crunch wrap supreme coated in Dorito-flavored fart dust is a bad thing. I’m just saying, everything in moderation, right?

Let’s face it. Our bodies evolved over millions of years as hunter-gatherers, with the emphasis on gatherers. We aren’t really supposed to have access to all-you-can-eat rib buffets, or the abomination that is turducken. For millennia after millennia, our ancestors subsided mostly on bugs and leafy twigs, with the occasional dead rabbit carcass only thrown in sporadically as a special treat after an incredibly grueling and dangerous eight day hunt. Modern agriculture and animal husbandry is, in the grand scheme of things, a brand new phenomenon. Historically, if somebody wanted to eat meat, they had to literally fight for it, and probably pretty often, they’d lose, and be stomped to death by mastodoni, or rodents of unusual size.

Now that we’ve effectively removed ourselves from the food chain however, we don’t even have to go to the grocery store to get our meat anymore. With the magic of the internet, we can have a pallet of unidentifiable breaded and fried meat lumps delivered to our door piping hot and ready to consume, with various dipping sauces, any time we so desire.

This is too easy. Here’s why this is a problem.

Reason the first: Eating meat all the time is unhealthy. Granted, eating nothing but vegetarian or vegan fare isn’t any better. I can’t remember ever seeing a vegetarian and thinking, hey, they look great and not at all feeble or sickly. On the flip side of that though, I can’t recall ever being in a McDonalds or KFC and thinking, hey these people probably don’t have diabetes. So, again, everything in moderation.

Fat Bastard

Photograph of the average American meat eater in his natural habitat

Reason the second: Producing the amount of meat we consume every year is bad for the environment. It takes roughly 2-5 acres of pasture land for ONE cow to survive. A cow consumes roughly 30 lbs. of food a day. (humans, by comparison, consume about 3 lbs./day) Smaller livestock animals obviously consume less than cows, but the point remains, raising any animal to maturity requires a huge investment of resources that could be devoted elsewhere if our demand for meat beasts was to decrease. Additionally, besides requiring vast tracts of land that could be devoted to producing more efficient agricultural food stuffs, all of those tasty walking happy-meals have another detrimental effect on the world.

They make smelly poop-farts. This isn’t a joke. Domestic live-stock like cattle, buffalo, sheep, goats, and camels produce a huge amount of methane in their farts and shit. Methane is a greenhouse gas, which contributes to dangerous climate change. This is actually the second highest source of greenhouse gas emissions in the world, behind only the burning of fossil fuels.

If we were to decrease the amount of cattle we raise however, not only would we decrease the amount of greenhouse gas emissions, but we could actually reclaim a lot of land currently used for pasture, and replant forests, which soak up and store carbon, the other greenhouse gas, while creating oxygen, you know that thing we need to live.

If the cost of potentially saving the world is that beef gets a little rarer and more expensive, so be it says I. I like a rare steak almost as much as I like a bad pun.

Unfortunately, I can see the potential for a lot of disagreement from people who aren’t going to appreciate giving up their meat-heavy diets. “So what if we’re unsustainably raping our world for the sake of one dollar cheeseburgers?” they’ll say. “Cheeseburgs are a tasty-treat, and if you don’t think so, you’re un-American.”

That brings me to my last reason why all the meat we eat is a problem.

Reason the third: Cheeseburgs ARE a tasty treat, but you don’t deserve them. You haven’t earned them. Our ancestors got to eat only what they killed themselves. That’s how it should still be. I’ve seen Mistress eat a bathtub-sized bucket of fried chicken, and then cry when our cat killed a bird in the back yard. What a hypocrite. And you know damn well, she’s not alone.

Me, i’m no animal lover. I grew up around farms, and I grew up hunting. I’ve killed and butchered my share of pigs, sheep, deer, poultry, hobos, etc. If I want to munch on a dead beast, I have no problems making that beast dead to do it. If I’m in the mood for some condor egg omelets or a panda pot-pie, i’ll stab a panda in the eye to get it. There are plenty of people who wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that however. So let’s make it a requirement.

I think if you want to be able to eat meat, you’ve got to earn it. You’ve got to kill the beast you’re going to eat. This way, those bloodthirsty folk who really want to eat meat are forced to recognize that their snack comes at a price. In order for you to enjoy that wonderful steak, a creature had to be born, live, and die. If you’re not willing to look Bambi in the eye before putting a bullet in his brain or an arrow in his guts, maybe eating meat just isn’t for you.

wait for it....

wait for it….

I’m guessing there would be a lot more vegetarians.

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What do you want to do with your life, and other embarrassing questions

Posted on April 5, 2014 by Max T Kramer

Maybe i’m in a deep philosophical debate with an old friend. Maybe I’m trying too hard to talk to a cute girl at the bar. Maybe I’m chatting with a cactus in New Mexico while high on peyote. It doesn’t matter. At some point, whomever i’m speaking with is going to ask “what do you want to do with your life,” and I am going to have a hard time answering.

It’s not that I don’t know the answer. I know exactly what I want to do with my life. I’m just embarrassed to admit it.

Usually, I’ll provide some glib response like, “be a trophy husband, or “who cares, I work in a cubicle, so all I have to look forward to now is the sweet embrace of death.” That or “oh, you know, I’m pretty much governed by animal urges. All I want to do is eat, sleep, fuck, fight, and lay down before rain storms.”

It’s easier to say dumb stuff like that, than to tell the truth.

The truth is, I want to write.

It’s a simple desire, but it sounds so pretentious when I say it out loud.

Other than the need for basic literacy, there’s really no barrier to entry for being a writer. If you have the ability to string words together relatively coherently, you can write. If you can write, and you do write, you are a writer. Most people, therefore, are writers. Very few of them however, are writers. For the majority, writing is simply a means to an end. A distasteful chore which is sometimes necessary to store and transfer basic information. To them, the process of writing is about as pleasant as raking leaves. It’s not fun, but sometimes it needs to be done, or else your neighbors will leave bags of flaming poo on your front stoop.

To these people, when I say I want to write, they don’t think hey, that makes sense, writing is fun. To them, me saying I want to write implies that I think i’m good at it, and that I’ll make a career out of it. Who do I think I am, the next Steven King? Bill Shakespeare reincarnate? Well, aren’t I a dick.

They don’t get that writing, for me, is not a chore, nor is it a money making scheme. It’s a pleasure. It’s a cathartic release. It’s miraculous. With a few strokes of a pen, or clicks of the keyboard, I can do anything. I can connect with a stranger. I can tell a joke. I can explain a theory. I can build worlds. I can create art.

Writing for me, is incredibly intimate. It allows me to share my thoughts with countless others, and it gives those thoughts permanence. Libraries are filled with books written by dead men and women. They have passed on. Their ideas have not. A great writer can achieve immortality of a sort. A great writer can change the world.

I’m not saying I’m a great writer. I likely never will be. That doesn’t mean i’m not going to try.

I like to write. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but whatever, there are worse things to be passionate about.

Like extreme ironing. Extreme ironing is a worse thing to be passionate about.

 

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10 reasons why camping is the worst

Posted on March 3, 2014 by Max T Kramer

If the popularity of horrible websites like Buzzfeed has taught me anything, it’s that the secret formula to internet success is: Phase 1 – make a list. Phase 2- ?????. Phase 3 – Profit.

The fact is, stupid people will read just about anything in list form. And they’ll think it’s insightful. And then they’ll share it on Facebook, where their friends will read it, and like it and share it, thus creating an ever expanding mountain of internet smegma which will eventually blot out the sun and kill us all.

I understand why Buzzfeed does what it does. It’s a business, and it needs the best possible Return On Investment. If meaningless, poorly written, blatantly obvious lists created in no time at all with no real effort involved can drive page views through the roof, and page views mean ad revenue which means profit, then obviously they’re going to keep shitting out banal tripe like that from now until the end of time.

Some of us however, maintain that writing is an art, not a business. We have scruples. We hold ourselves, and our websites to a higher standard. We would never sell out to the lowest common denominator in such a demeaning fashion.

Also, here’s a list of why Camping is the worst:

  1. Homeless people do it. Of course, it’s not called camping when they do it, it’s just called depressing.
  2. Bugs exist. Mosquitos, Ticks, Gnats, Tarantulas, take your pick. They’re all out there, and they’re all hungry for your sweet sweet blood nectar.
  3. You won’t sleep well. No matter how smooth the ground looks when you pitch your tent, you are guaranteed to spend all night being stabbed by a rock or a stick or samurai sword sticking up from the ground. Guaranteed. And the people with you WILL snore. Guaranteed. Also, you will either be freezing cold, or boiling hot, because you’ve spent your entire life with the temperature regulated by a thermostat, and your body can’t take the outside world. Additionally, you’ll spend all night wondering what that noise was.
  4. It’s unnecessary. Hiking? Biking? Fishing? Drinking? All the things you can do while camping, you can do just as easily without camping. Because roads and cars are a thing now, and after you finish your outdoorsy activity, you can just leave and go to a hotel. Or home.
  5. Somebody will get hurt. The closest thing to physical activity your jerk kids partake in is Wii Jeopardy, so obviously as soon as they go somewhere even remotely wildernessy, they’re going to shatter an ankle stepping on an acorn, immediately get gangrene, and most likely die.
  6. It’s costs money. A surprisingly large amount, considering this is something homeless people do literally all the time. Buying supplies and gear costs money. Driving to wherever you’re staying costs money. Depending on where you’re staying, getting a campsite may cost money. Gangrene medicine afterwards costs money. Staying home however, surrounded by all your treasures, is free.
  7. You’ll stink. Like bug spray, and body odor, and stale smoke, and poop, and regret.
  8. If you’re a teenager and you have sex while camping, Jason Vorhees will stab you through the spine.
  9. The locals suck. The locals being bears, and wolves, and anacondas, and Sasquatch, and hillbillys.
  10. You’ll probably die. By burning down the forest. Or from an allergic reaction to Poison Ivy. Which you wiped your butt with. Because you’re an idiot.

In case I actually need to define “camping”, Camping is when you, and probably other people, stay in a tent, or under the stars, somewhere…for no particular reason. If you’re sleeping in a tent because you’re halfway up Mount Everest, or on a big game hunt in Africa, or at the annual gathering of the Juggalos, then fuck yeah, it makes sense that you’re slumming it in a tent for a bit, because it’s simply the means to an end, not the end in and of itself. If you begin your camping excursion however with the words “Let’s go Camping!”, and you go camping for no other reason than to be camping, then I hope Bigfoot raids your campsite and chokes you to death with his dick, because that’s dumb. Note, camping is only camping if you’re in a tent, or less. You aren’t camping if you’re staying in a cabin or an RV. Bigfoot can still choke you with his meat stick however.

In conclusion, camping is the worst, and here’s a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon:

Calvin and Hobbes

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Boys: The New Girls?

Posted on February 1, 2014 by Max T Kramer

Those damn feminists are at it again. In typical selfish womanly fashion, they’ve decided to redress perceived social inequalities, not by improving themselves to a point where they actually deserve to be treated like actual human beings, but by undermining and ruining manhood itself. They see us men, bro-ing out up in our glorious golden man-castle, and instead of building a ladder so that they can climb up and join us in our splendour, they’ve decided to knock the castle down completely, so that we must all wallow in the mud like mindless beasts. What’s more appalling, and the really unforgivable part of their devious plan, is that they’ve targeted our most cherished, and most vulnerable treasure. Our sons.

While us men kill ourselves going to work at jobs we hate, to provide for our families needs, the she-devils are spending countless hours unsupervised with our impressionable youth. They are using that time to tell our boys lies. Lies like, it’s okay to be sensitive. It’s okay to feel feelings. It’s okay to cry. They keep citing cases where weak little wiener boys are getting bullied on the playground, and instead of solving the problem by teaching the little wiener boys how to be tough and strong and protect themselves, they want to just turn all of the boys into little wiener boys so they can all prance around together in rainbow fairy unicornland.

Basically, they’re trying to turn our boys into girls.

How. Dare. They. This is unforgivable, not just because it’s comparable to taking a brand new Ferrari, and turning it into a beat up late model Yugo, but also because it literally puts us all in danger. What these feminists aren’t thinking of, what they are incapable of understanding, due to their squirrel sized brains, is that men are tough and manly for a reason. Our tough manliness serves a critical purpose. Our tough manliness is the only thing protecting the entire human race from certain death.

Let’s create for ourselves a hypothetical scenario. In this scenario, we have two boys, born on the same day, but raised differently. One, Krull the Destroyer, was raised in a traditional household to be a real man, and has naturally grown up to be a brilliant success, and a credit to his species. The other however, Lafayette Dandypants, was raised by misguided feminists, and taught horrible things, like “being yourself is cool”, and “it’s okay to show affection”, and “you can cry without turning into a lady on her period”. Obviously, Lafayette has grown up to be a perpetual disappointment, shifty ne’er do well, and chronic masturbater.

One day, both of these men happen to be walking home from work, when they are attacked by wolves. Krull, since he is a real man, as you would imagine, swiftly and easily slays the pack leader, harvests its pelt as a trophy, and assumes command of the pack, becoming known forever after as Krull Beastmaster, King of the Wolves.

Lafayette of course does no such thing. Since he was taught to be in touch with his emotions, he instead tries to get the wolves to talk about their feelings, and then dies in horrible agony as the annoyed wolves feast on his gooey insides.

Congratulations feminists. You raised a wimp, and he died like a bitch.

What part of raising a generation of boys who think it’s okay to cry seems like a good idea? Crying, after all, is inherently selfish. It in no way helps other people. When you cry, all you are doing is making yourself feel better, at the expense of everyone around you who has to listen to your unpleasant blubbering and look at your gross snotty face feeling worse.

Should we really be promoting such selfish behavior in our children? No. We should teach them, both boys and girls, how to repress their emotions, to hide them down deep until they reach an externally tranquil zen-like state. So what if they’re a seething vortex of repressed rage on the inside? They’ll probably never explode.

Angry_wolf

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I’m a straight rich white guy. My life is tough.

Posted on January 8, 2014 by Max T Kramer

First of all, Happy New Year to you. With the mighty Krampus still bafflingly absent, and the Mayans once again proving themselves terrible at armageddical mathematics, I trust that your holiday season was as devastatingly peaceful and pleasant as mine. Since this is my first post of 2014, I wanted to write something especially poignant and insightful. Then I thought, fuck it, I might as well just offend as many people as possible, like normal. So here we go.

You’re welcome, The World.

Disclaimer: I’m a man. I’m a heterosexual white man. I’m an upper-middle class heterosexual white man. Therefore, since the instant I was born, I have been given every advantage in this world, even though I have done nothing of merit to actually deserve these unasked for benefits. I’m “privileged”. Every facet of the society I live in has been systematically designed from the ground up to empower people like me (ie rich heterosexual white male), while inhibiting the success of anyone not like me (ie not rich, heterosexual, white, or male). This is the world we live in.

I must admit a dirty little secret. I don’t hate it.

Please try to understand, all the benefits I receive simply by looking how I look…are nice. It’s nice to earn a dollar for every dollar my peers earn. It’s nice to be looked in the eye when I’m spoken to. It’s nice to be viewed as a leader when maybe i’m just being a bully. It’s nice to shop without suspicious sales clerks following me around. It’s nice to automatically be listened to, even when I have no idea what the funk i’m talking about. It’s nice to be able to marry whoever I wish. It’s nice to be picked up by taxis.

I’m sure you’ve heard the saying “It’s a heterosexual white man’s world.” Well, I fit all the criteria, and baby I can tell you, it certainly is.

Don’t kill me. Not yet. Bear with me just a bit longer here. I promise i’m going somewhere with this, and i’m not just admitting i’m a racist, sexist, homophobic asshole. I’m not. Well, i’m an asshole. But not those other things. It’s true, I don’t hate the status quo, since it was designed specifically to benefit people who look a lot like me, but that doesn’t mean i’m not committed to changing it.

Why would I, a rich straight white dude, want to change the status quo? I won’t reap any significant benefit from it. I already have everything.

The answer is, because I need to. I need to because I love my girlfriend. I need to because I love my sisters, and I love my mother. I love my gay friends, and my black friends, and my brown friends. I need to because I didn’t earn this crown, and it’s time to step down from the throne. I need to because I want a world that is equal, equitable, and fair. I need to because it’s the right thing to do.

I’m not a racist. I mean, I hate black people. But I only hate specific black people. Along with specific white people, and specific other multi-hued individuals. My hatred is focused and personal, and I only hate people I actually know. There is no generalized blanket hatred from this fellow. Except for hipsters. Who are usually white. So i’m safe on that one.

I’m also not a sexist. If I was, my feminist girlfriend and her rage-filled army of militant  man-hating unshaven she-beasts would surely choke me with their unwashed Diva cups, and then tear me limb from limb in an orgy of violence. Or at least they would try. I would likely outwit them, because they’re girls, so they’re dumb, or I could simply outrun them, since they are girls, so they’re hilariously slow. I joke, I joke.

Lastly, I’m not homophobic. What do I care who someone else loves or lusts after? I’ve got my Mistress, and even if she ultimately leaves me to squish gienies together with a certain butch looking coffee barista from Starbucks, there are enough other beautiful women available in the world who like the D, so i’ll probably find that special someone that’s right for me someday. They’re not all going to be stolen from me by “the gays”. And gay dudes, if you’d rather get a boner and sword fight with your partner, or play space station and dock wieners, or whatever other strange and wonderful things it is that you do, than bounce a woman’s titties around, that’s fine too because that means there’s more titties available for the bouncing by yours truly.

So how then, if i’m not racist, not sexist, and not homophobic, could I support a system that is?

You’re right. I can’t.

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