But I don’t eat red meat.
I was a vegan for about 10 months, back in 1997, and I would have hit the one year mark or even longer had I not been attacked by a pack of humorless VEEGANS. I don’t wish to disparage all vegans, I’m sure there are a few with a sense of humor and a healthy dose of cynicism. But the ones at the brunch I’d been invited to attend that fateful late summer Sunday morning were not those sort of vegans.
It all began a week prior, when my jokester coworkers at Legal Video Services decided to adorn my truck’s bumper with a Carl’s Jr. sticker that proclaimed in all caps, I EAT MEAT. It was a very popular bumper sticker at the time, mainly because one could easily black out the letters I and the AT at the end. Yes, EAT ME. That’s how most of the other car owners chose to customize their stickers, and it was the best form of advertising the Carl’s Jr. ad agency ever came up with, until the dripping burger juice on buxom bikini babes TV spots that would come a decade later.
It took me a day or two to notice the sticker on my truck, but when I did find it, I did not wreak holy havoc upon my merry prankster coworkers. No, I found it hilarious and was actually touched that they took the time to procure said sticker and apply it to said bumper. I worked the night shift, so I pictured them sneaking out in the dark, dressed in black, one stationed near my desk as a lookout, sniggering as they rubbed a sweaty palm across the sticker to adhere it completely.
So, a week later, when I parked my truck in front of my fellow vegan friend’s home for brunch, fruit-salad in hand, I’d completely forgotten that I had been driving THE DEVIL’S HARDBODY. So, after five minutes of struggling to mingle with the pachouli-scented crowd (I know, stereotype – but these folks didn’t offer anything to dispel it), I sat on the couch with my soy-cheese broccoli-carrot quiche and beet-ginger juice. It was then that I overheard a woman complaining, loudly, to a group of attentive, sallow-faced 20 somethings that “On the way in, I saw a truck with an abominable bumper sticker that read –and I almost threw up in my mouth–EAT MEAT!” The group jumped back, an involuntary expansion of the circle, hands to mouth, eyes agape, each of them uniformly horrified. “In front of THIS HOUSE?” one of them asked. If I hadn’t been paying attention I would have thought they were referring to a drive-by-shooting or a hit-and-run.
That evening I ate an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, despite my lactose intolerance….
If that brunch had had a theme song, it would have been Toto Cuelo’s “I Eat Cannibals.” This was the epitome of a 1-hit-wonder, but when you have the station First Wave playing on your SiriusXM car stereo, it feels like just yesterday that this song came out. It’s what I love in a throwaway fun song: silliness, group-sing, tribal drums and big and bad haircuts.
If you grew up not hearing this song on the radio or the dance floor, your life is a little less complete than it should be.
I eat cannibals – feed on animal – your love is so edible to me – I eat cannibals I eat cannibals – it’s incredible – you bring out the animal in me – I eat cannibals
The rest of the profound lyrics can be found here.