Zombie deer are coming to a forest near you

Those who know me know I’m a vegetarian, so it’s probably rather obvious that I don’t hunt.

Never have, never will (barring some apocalyptic event in which all plant life is destroyed by an anti-tempeh terrorist organization).

Brain Farce is an alleged humor column written by Scott Adamson. It comes out basically whenever he feels like writing it. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

I have zero interest in wandering off into the woods and shooting a critter, because I like critters and – to date – not a single one has ever taken a shot at me. That being said, there is some hunting-related news I’m rather excited about.

According to a report in livescience.com, deer in at least 22 states and parts of Canada have died from chronic wasting disease.

That news is sad, of course, and thoughts and prayers go out to the entire Cervidae family. Still, there is hope for a happy ending.

Why?

Well, some side effects of this malady, according to the Center for Disease Control, include, “… drastic weight loss, a lack of coordination, drooling, listlessness or a ‘blank’ facial expression, and a lack of fear of people.”

Admittedly, this reminds me of me during my heavy drinking days, but in deer, this is known as “zombie deer disease.”

Now frankly, at that point I had no desire to read any further because you’re going to have one helluva time topping “zombie deer.”

And since I didn’t finish the article, I am free to imagine (hope?) what this means to hunters and hunting and bucks and does and the whole circle of life (and death).

Say, for example, you shoot Bambi’s mother. Normally, that would be a shitty thing to do. But if Bambi’s mother (I think her name was Tiffany … it was never clear in the movie) contracted this disease and died, would she not return as a zombie?

And if she did, would that not be one of the coolest things ever?

While Elmer Fudd is dragging her back to camp to process her, she suddenly springs to life (or however zombies define their resurrection), and bites his trigger-happy ass.

Fudd dies, but then he comes back as a zombie himself.

That’s where things could get vewwy, vewwy interesting.

The zombies in “Night of the Living Dead” were pretty traditional and fit the definition provided by the CDC.

They drooled, they hobbled … about the only time they ever showed any enthusiasm was when they got hold of fresh femur (where the meat just falls off the bone, by the way).

But remember the movie “World War Z?” Those zombies were amazingly fast. In fact, they were quite well-coordinated and formed impressive pyramids. Could it be that the disease might manifest itself in such a way that a Fudd zombie would be more akin to a Z zombie?

We still don’t have Patient Zero so we can’t answer that question yet.

At any rate, if zombie deer suddenly start to populate the forests, that’s going to be quite a game-changer.

Those who have a taste for venison will likely lose it once they realize Bambi’s mother isn’t going to be still long enough for you to eat her.

And, the knowledge that you could become a zombie Fudd yourself should be quite a deterrent to deer hunting. At least I think it would.

Look, I’m not trying to preach here. After all, some of my best friends are Fudds. And if you eat meat, chances are the meat you eat didn’t volunteer for the job and off itself so you could have a burger.

I’d like to think that’s the case, but I know it’s not.

Plus, animals eat other animals. That’s messed up, but no less a fact.

But I’ve never thought of hunting as a sport, since humans have guns and animals do not. And sport is defined as “physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment.”

However, if a Fudd goes up against a deer that is going to spring back to life right after it’s killed, then you’ve got yourself a ballgame, my friend.

 

I’ve yet to take advantage of senior discounts

For two years now, I have been eligible for senior discounts at fine dining establishments.

Brain Farce is an alleged humor column written by Scott Adamson. It comes out basically whenever he feels like writing it. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

And for two years now, I have yet to take advantage of a single one. I just can’t do it.

No doubt it’s silly … why not enjoy that sweet 10 percent discount that some places offer when you get the chance? I mean, living to age 55 should count for something, right?

And when you consider the fact that young people are now snacking on detergent pods, you realize fewer and fewer people will ever make it to that age.

Still, there’s something unsettling about a restaurant staff that throws you into the “senior” category. Because once workers find out you’re 55 or older, they start calling you “sweetheart” and “honey” and immediately tell you where the restrooms are located.

Screw that.

My date of birth is 1960, but I’m still counting on my expiration date being many, many years away. And while there might be a certain expectation of how 55-year olds are supposed to look, act and eat, I refuse to live down to them.

Yet there are seniors who happily take advantage of their discount. And many cheerfully order from a “senior menu.”

Next time you get a chance, take a peek at what’s available for us old folk.

It’s not nearly as good as the regular menu stuff, and it comes in small portions.

If it’s the day before you’re 55th birthday, you’re encouraged to go the whole meat-and-three route, plus dessert.

But then the next day – because you grew up in an ancient world – you order a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup because, apparently, that’s what 55-year olds are supposed to eat.

There is even one restaurant, which shall remain nameless, that actually offers discounts to those of us 50-years old and over.

The catch?

You have to order from the children’s menu – I kid you not.

There’s nothing the wife and I enjoy more than going to a restaurant and eating processed chicken nuggets in the shape of clowns with a side of mac and cheese and a juice box.

Why not just put us in high chairs and throw a jar of Gerber at us?

Sure, the crayons and coloring book are a nice touch, but I still have a hearty appetite.

And that’s another thing about this smaller portion nonsense. When you go to bed at age 54 and wake up at age 55, does your stomach shrink overnight?

Do you tastes magically change?

No … they most certainly do not.

Look, I don’t mean to sound like an ass. It’s always good to save money and restaurants don’t have to offer discounts of any kind, so the fact that they do is a nice gesture.

They’re simply trying to throw a bone to the “Matlock” and “Murder She Wrote” crowd.

But sometimes niceness can be misplaced, and “senior menus” oftentimes perpetuate a stereotype.

I am acutely aware that there are 55-year olds who wear polyester pants up to their teats and long for the good old days when phones were plugged into walls and the coolest cat on television was Arthur Fonzarelli.

And if you are that person and you want to order the oatmeal with fruit and have the manager burp you when you’re done, great.

Enjoy your meal and be sure to leave a quarter for a tip.

There are many of us, however, who may be chronologically challenged but still want to look, act and eat like the cools kids.

So if you’re in the marketing business and work for a restaurant chain, keep this in mind. Perhaps at your next meeting you might consider making the senior menu less about age and more about tasty options.

Keep the coloring books, though.

I’m almost to the point where I can stay inside the lines.

Don’t be frightened because I’m a vegetarian

My name is Scott, and I’m a vegetarian.

Brain Farce is an alleged humor column written by Scott Adamson. It comes out basically whenever he feels like writing it. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

I’m still amused by the reactions I get from some people when I share this fact. It’s as though I’ve revealed a secret that makes them slightly uncomfortable – and wary of me.

Why, I don’t know.

All it means is that I don’t eat meat. It doesn’t mean that if I see you eat meat, I’m going to start screaming or try to hit you in the head with a hammer. I’m not on a crusade.

Besides, I still enjoy eggs, which come from chickens, which count as animals even though many of the chickens I’ve met are complete assholes. Even so, I make sure that the eggs I eat are from free range, cage-free chickens who are self-sufficient and have access to the best schools.

Also, I get that eating meat is instinctual. That’s why humans have teeth designed for shredding flesh, and why there are so many Golden Corrals and Cracker Barrels in business.

I just choose not to eat meat because it’s the right decision for me. As George Bernard Shaw said, “Animals are my friends … and I don’t eat my friends.”

He also said a lot of other things, too, but that’s the line that applies directly to this column.

Anyway, I’ve only been a vegetarian for a decade, so that means the vast majority of my life was spent dining on roast beast. And sadly, that’s a dining desire that does not go away – at least it hasn’t for me. So while it seems mildly hypocritical, I do enjoy meat substitutes.

Remember the TV series “True Blood,” where nice vampires sustained themselves on a synthetic form of blood (called Tru Blood) so they didn’t have to feast on humans?

It’s kinda like that.

Or think of “Blade,” who was a vampire but was able to thwart his bloodlust due to a special serum that allowed him to become a “Day Walker” and fight other vampires.

Tell you what … forget all that weird vampire shit. I’ve gotten way off topic.

The point is, while I love vegetables and fruit and eat plenty of both (and always have), I still crave “meat.” And fortunately, there are plenty of soy and hemp-based products out there that mimic the flavor.

Tempeh is the most versatile, and that’s my every day, go-to substitute. Its uses run the gamut from sandwiches to main courses.

There is also hempeh, which is like tempeh, only hemp-based. It’s very good, and I imagine quite popular among beatniks and folk music enthusiasts who smoke marijuana cigarettes.

And sometimes I’ll have fake sausage (soysage) for breakfast, a treat I’ve developed quite a fondness for. When I first tried it, it tasted like regular sausage that had quit trying, but now I really don’t even notice the difference.

Or maybe I just don’t remember.

Fake hot dogs (also known as Not Dogs) have also become a staple of my diet. There are some brands that taste like absolute garbage, admittedly, but there is at least one (thank you, Morningstar Farms Veggie Dogs!) that’s really good.

Even my wife, who still eats meat on occasion, enjoys Not Dogs. It’s like eating a regular hot dog only without the sheep penises and rodent lips.

Of course my primary weakness is still bacon. Back in my carnivore days I couldn’t get enough of it, and it remains the meat I crave the most.

Sometimes to fight the urge, I’ll have to watch “Babe” to get my head (and heart) right.*

* And I’m referring to “Babe” the movie about the talking pig and not “The Babe” with John Goodman starring as George Herman Ruth. All that movie does is remind me that good sports-themed films are rare.

Sadly, I’ve yet to find a vegetarian replacement for bacon. Absolutely nothing tastes like the delicious, sizzling sliced hog, which creates an aroma so good I have actually searched the internet for bacon-scented candles.

That being said, I’m quite happy with my decision to become a vegetarian.

I feel like I’m much healthier than I was during my meat-eating days, and I no longer feel guilty when I drive down the interstate and wave at cows.

I still can’t look a pig in the eye, though.

With apologies to Mr. Shaw, it’s a friend I still want to eat.