Danocrates discusses food

Pillows!



I grew up poor and learned the best way to curb my appetite as a kid was going to bed early. The growling of my stomach was a little annoying at first, but I’d just wrap my head with my pillow and get some sleepy sleep.

What would you rather have?

A bowl of gruel or a nice, comfy, goose-down pillow?

I’d vote for the pillow. Sleeping will cure all the world’s problems.

The milk industry claims its bovine breast beverage fortified with vitamin D, “Does the body good.”

Vitamin D is essential for absorbing calcium which helps our bodies build strong bones and teeth. However, some studies show dairy consumption leads to certain types of cancer. Granted, these specific dairy products come from cows amped up the bovine growth hormone.

Cancer + Chemo = Baldness

The question is how do we obtain vitamin D without consuming cancer-creating-dairy products?

Quite the conundrum.

How about that big ole yellow orb that’s eight light minutes away we call the Sun, silly?

The body produces vitamin D when the sun’s ultraviolet rays strike the skin. I can’t explain exactly what happens chemically, so let’s just call it “solar sorcery”.

But before you become an official vegan, move to a nudist colony and start worshiping Amen-Ra the Sun God, take heed!

Take in too much UV rays (aka…radiation) and you will develop skin cancer. The ozone layer is the Earth’s sunscreen against the UV rays. Some scientists have blamed ozone depletion from cow’s methane emissions created by their belching and flatulence.

Drink too much milk…cancer…sun bath too long…cancer…too many cows…cancer

How are we to keep our hair if we keep getting cancer on our quest for vitamin D?

Like symbol of Ouroboros, the serpent devouring its own tail, I wish I had an answer to this paradox.

I did some research and discovered the entire milk campaign in the 80’s was financed by an eccentric billionaire and wig mogul, J.C. McCloud.

Coincidence? I think not.

Everytime I attempt to eat a carrot, I feel like I’m blowing Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.

I was walking into the grocery store and a homeless guy asked me for a dollar. Without giving him eye contact I said, “Sorry, buddy. I wish I had it.” and passertively walked by him.

‘Eggs’ was at the top of my list, so I went back to the dairy section. I noticed a Styrofoam carton of jumbo-sized eggs was priced for only 99¢. What a bargain! Twelve chicken fetuses for under a buck!

That works out to be 8¼ ¢ per chick. What a steal!

The miser in me was drawn to this ‘deal’ as Paris Hilton is to any form of publicity. Then my eyes drifted to an organic brand of eggs encased in a recyclable plastic container. These eggs came from hand-fed, hormone-free, Omega-H enhanced, cage-free chickens.

Self-diagnosed with a mild case of orthorexia nervosa (the fixation on righteous-eating), I immediately decided on purchasing these eggs even though they were quadruple the price. I would gladly pay three dollars more to know that the mother of these chicken fetuses was able to run free and enjoy life. She deserves that. God bless her.

I felt good about myself. I’m a good person. I care about the environment. I care about Gertrude the chicken. I care about my health. I’m awesome.

I finished off my list, paid for the items, and exited the store. The same bum approached me again. He didn’t recognize me and asked me for another dollar. I answered with the same response, “Sorry, buddy. I wish I had it.”

Basically, I’m apathetic towards humans and empathetic towards chickens who forced to give up their children for human consumption or become a Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

My friend Ben is extremely overweight—over 400 pounds. He’s always on some ridiculous diet to shed his excess fat. Right now he’s only eating apples and canned tuna fish.

I told him if he really wanted to reduce his “weight” just wait until the Moon was directly overhead and he would “weigh” less because the gravitational pull of the Moon would be pulling up on his body.

“That’s awesome!”, Ben said then asked, “How much would I weigh then?” I answered, “Oh…about…three hundred and ninety-nine point nine nine eight.”

“Oh—not enough to make a difference,” he gloomily responded as he bit into a over ripened green apple.

“Hey man, just think. In twenty years, I’m sure NASA will have a lunar colony. If you moved there, you would only weigh 67 pounds. You would still be big as fuck, but have the weight of an eight year old.”

“Fuck you!”

This “morning” , I ordered my usual breakfast at Hebrew National Deli. Two eggs sunny-side up, home-fried potatoes, whole wheat toast, and a small coffee.

I say “morning” because it was around 11:30AM which technically is before noon but it shouldn’t be considered morning.

When my meal appeared, I was appalled at what I saw.

It was 75% correct.

No home-fried potatoes were available, so they had substituted french fries instead without informing me.

Are they out of their fucking mind?

Who eats french fries with their eggs?!

I only eat cube-shaped potatoes for breakfast,

elongated rectangular prism-shaped potatoes at lunch,

and ellipsoidal-shaped potatoes at dinner.

Cylindrical-shaped potatoes are special because they can be served at lunch OR dinner.

Idiots!

Its extremely important to know what geometric shape you are allowed to eat depending on the position of the Sun.

I was enlightened with the fact, that mangoes belong to the same family as poison ivy, the Sumac family. Certain cultures have made this fruit a staple in their diet. Puerto Rico became one of those countries. In 1750, the mango was introduced to their island and Puerto Rico embraced it. After two and half centuries of consumption, Puerto Ricans have unknowingly developed a natural immunity to poison ivy.

Case in point, my friend Ricardo and I were running through the woods naked. I unfortunately was hospitalized for a burning, eczematous rash and mi amigo Ricardo came out unscathed.

Once I recovered, I had an inspiration and drew out my quill and scribed this poem…

Mangos
Succulent orbs of protective fructose

Poison Ivy
Infectious, secreting leaves of agony

The devious, demonic plant lurking below
Preying on unsuspecting Gringos with their unprotected skin

Behold!
Mira!

My epidermis is laced with Mango Madness.
Defending my body from the venomous juice.

My regal blood is produced by my pumping, pulminary papaya
Immune to the toxic Taliban of torment

Eschuchen, por favor

I love to lay in the grass
You can kiss my Puerto Rican ass

In today’s media driven world, eating disorders are becoming more and more prevalent. Bulimia…Anorexia…Binge-Eating Disorder. Now there is a new syndrome called Orthorexia: literally, the “fixation on righteous eating”. These are the people who are convinced that eating grinded flax seeds, soy milk, vegetarian-fed eggs with omega-h and an array of bizarre organic products will give them “The Golden Ticket” to The Willy-Wonka Factory in the Sky.
We all live at the hands of Fate. When you were born, Mrs. Fate issued you a ticket, and draws from a lottery. If your number is called…YOU DIE! There is no way around it. But these people suffering from Orthorexia Nervosa truly believe that if they inhale bee testicles from Shir-keika located within the Tibetan Mountains, they will be immune to cancer. Horseshit! That shit of course coming from an all-natural Australian, range-fed horse that was never in a feed lot. That’s good shit!