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.

Keeping New Year’s resolutions? It’s easy

We’re now five days into a new year, so how are your resolutions going?

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 guessing by this point some of you have already backed off your big plans to better yourself, and that’s not uncommon.

Too many times we make resolutions we simply can’t keep.

“Oh,” you say, “I’m going to quit stealing Jenna’s tuna salad from the break room fridge,” or “this is the year I stop cooking meth in my car.”

That’s crazy talk.

Instead, you should set attainable goals.

That’s what I do every Dec. 31, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I was unable to keep every single one of them.

The key is to sit down, make a list – a realistic one – and stick to it.

And to help you do just that, I’m going to share my 10 resolutions for 2018. And if you decide to adopt any and all of them for yourself, well, I’ll be flattered.

 

I will not ask anyone if they are “ready for Christmas”

This is a resolution you do not have to concern yourself with until the final two months of the year. Still, why does anyone ask this ridiculous question?

What would happen if we weren’t ready for Christmas? Would Christmas not come?

Of course not.

Christmas will be here every Dec. 25, ready or not. And I will not ask you if you are ready for it because it doesn’t matter and I don’t care.

Now Stephen Foster Memorial Day on Jan. 13 is another story.

There’s really never enough time to prepare for that.

 

I will not invade Iceland

This is far and away the easiest resolution to keep. Iceland is a long way from where I live and, to the best of my knowledge, no one in Iceland has ever offended me in any way.

Plus, I’m not a weapons guy. I have a Louisville Slugger baseball bat in the closet somewhere and a big wooden spoon, but nothing that would allow me to successfully subdue an entire people.

So, Iceland is safe from me.

Finland, however, might need to be on alert in 2019.

 

I will not watch an episode of “American Idol”

Never have, never will.

Karaoke is for drunks who feel the need to sing at dive bars. I did this once and the song I chose was a censored version of “Murder Was The Case” by Snoop Dogg.

Still haven’t quite lived that one down.

Anyway, “American Idol” is just televised karaoke, so I’ll take a hard pass.

 

I will not wear a tank top

Since I do not live in a  mobile home with a Confederate battle flag flying high above it; plan to star in a remake of the 1980 film “Cruising”; or play intercollegiate or professional basketball, there is no need for me to wear a tank top.

The danger of such an occurrence is nil.

 

I will not take in a poison dart frog as a pet

Sure they’re cute and colorful, but what the hell am I going to do with a poison dart frog? They’re only one-half to 2 inches long yet contain enough poison to kill 10 grown men.

Besides, I can’t think of 10 grown men I want killed at the moment. OK, maybe I can, but that’s a dark place I’ll steer clear of (to the best of your knowledge).

 

I will not watch any movie by Joel Schumacher with a comic book theme

To date he has done only one, the unholy abomination that was “Batman and Robin.”

I doubt he has plans to do another but if he changes his mind, I have a Louisville Slugger and wooden spoon at the ready.

 

I will not skydive

Jumping out of a plane?

You gotta be out of your freakin’ mind.

 

I will not order tater tots at Krispy Kreme

Only because they don’t sell ‘em.

 

I will not hunt or fish

I’m a vegetarian, but I’m not militant about it. I get that people like meat, and human beings have teeth designed to tear into meat.

Yet even when I was a flesh-eater, I never had any desire to go off in the woods and kill something.

I have fished, but never enjoyed it. Frankly, I don’t think the fish did, either.

 

I will not eat feta cheese

Why won’t I eat feta cheese?

I don’t know … why won’t you eat a raw goat scrotum?

Feta cheese is basically barf in crumble form. Not only do I not want it in my food, I don’t want in in my neighborhood.

Put another way, I’d rather eat potluck from a dumpster that this odious vermin vomit.

Anyway, I hope this helps as you navigate the rough waters of 2018 resolutions. And always remember … if you expect nothing from yourself, you’ll rarely be disappointed.

 

If you come knocking, I probably won’t answer the door

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.

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

Unless you’re a neighbor who I know, Batman, or someone dressed as Batman, I will not answer the door if you come knocking.

You can pound and bang and scream and cry, but it’s no use.

By the time you get to the third knock, I’ll either be safely locked away in my Panic Room or so well hidden you’ll think no one is home.

Whatever it is you need, I can’t help you with.

Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.

And you have the 1999 Tostitos Fiesta Bowl BCS National Championship Game to thank for it.

Before that game, in which Tennessee beat Florida State 23-16 to claim the championship of the 1998 season, I would usually go to the door if there was a knock and never give it a second thought.

Sometimes it was a Girl Scout hawking cookies, or occasionally someone trying to get me to buy aluminum siding. Regardless, the interactions were usually pleasant and brief.

This night was different.

I had the house to myself (except for my miniature dachshund, Otis) and all the supplies I needed to get through the game – a case of Coors Light, a pack of Ruffles potato chips, one can of Easy Cheese American, one can of Planters dry roasted peanuts, and the number of the regional medical center so I could punch it in as I was having my heart attack.

I had just positioned myself on the couch (about 10 minutes before kickoff) when there was a knock on the door.

When I opened it, there were three smiling gentlemen gathered on my porch.

“Good evening! How are you tonight?” one of them asked.

“I’m good. And you?” one of me answered (and asked).

“Outstanding. We’re with Big Box Church and we were hoping we could come in and talk to you for a bit.”

This, of course, was not going to happen. I was about to get my drink on and watch football, but even if I was only planning to sit back and enjoy an episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond,” I was not in the mood for a sermon.

“I’m not interested, but thanks,” I said. “The Fiesta Bowl is about to kick-off and I’m gonna watch that tonight.”

Another member of the front porch-squatters smiled broadly.

“Wow,” the broadly smiling one said. “We enjoy football, too.”

Then things got awkward.

“Well,” I said. “If you leave now you can get home in time to watch it.”

Not the most subtle hint, but at this point I was agitated.

“Well, we can talk while we watch,” the broadly smiling one said.

Then – and I kid you not – the dude actually put a foot over the threshold and tried to come into my house.

“Whoa,” I said, blocking is path. “You need to leave.”

At that point I gave the guy a Heisman straight-arm to push him back and slammed the door.

I mean, there’s pushy, and there’s get your face punched pushy.

And from that day forward, I have never answered the door without first checking who it was and making sure they fell into the “approved” category.

Fortunately now we have a front yard which is covered in pea gravel, so the minute someone steps onto our property, there is the sound of shoes-on-pebble.

Charlie, our Sheltie, is the first to hear it and he immediately heads to the back porch.

The two cats retire to the drawers underneath the futon.

Mary retreats to the bedroom, and I drop to the floor and serpentine to the stairs leading up the Panic Room, which is an attic room redesigned as a place to hide from those promoting commerce or religion.

There are some disadvantages, of course. Namely, I haven’t had a Girl Scout cookie in years.

Otherwise, though, it works out quite well.

Even though I no longer drink alcohol or eat Easy Cheese, I can still watch a ballgame in peace, knowing that if someone comes knocking they will be completely ignored.

Unless, as I said, I look out the peephole and see that it’s Batman.

The door is always open for the Dark Knight.