Can I Even Enjoy A Fucking Breakfast Without Some Happy Go Lucky Bullshit Shoved Down My Throat?
Posted on February 5, 2009 by Sleezy Trees
When you don’t have a job and you’re a hip hop head priorities have a weird way of arranging themselves on your table of self-need. For me, eating a healthy, yet unassuming breakfast is a pretty important part of my survival. Falling just above showering & hygine and right below buying Black Bart Simpson T-Shirts.
So you can imagine the excitement I get when I pool my government kick downs and begrudgingly leave my apartment to venture the heinous subzero weather ass rape that is New England’s climate to go cop a week’s worth of carefully calculated food items to sustain my life for another few days. There’s this place near my house called, “City Feed”. It’s like a Whole Foods, if Whole Foods were a lot gayer and woven with hemp and employees were all required to wear self-knitted clothing and have beards that put mine to shame.
Anyway, this is the place that you go to buy an $8 can of “line caught” tuna, a $6 bottle of Kombucha Tea, $9 jar of local honey, etc. The place smells like fresh hippy, and I shop there ONLY when I want to feel better about myself, (which is almost whenever I get that sweet government sustenance check).
My shopping trip was simple. Eggs, Milk, Bread. In + Out.
Well.. This morning, the fucking start of my day, I knew I would be eating like a king. I felt good about myself, and I knew that no matter what happened today.. at least my breakfast was going to be delicious. I was so fucking excited to eat my delicious cage free chicken fetuses. I mean these chickens were raised on fucking sunlit porches and barns for chrissakes! I felt pretty good about it..
And then it happened.
I opened the container and was met with what I thought was a joke. There was a fucking poem from Robert Frost tucked inside my fucking eggs! Now, this wouldn’t bother the NORMAL human being, but for some reason, it literally brought down my entire world.
Here I was, trying to enjoy a breakfast of delicious eggs that I paid probably close to a dollar per egg for, and I’m met with some fucking giggly liberal propaganda ready to fuck up my day. Maybe I’m a miserable codger, but I don’t want to read Robert Frost poetry, and then proceed to read tales about how the chickens that laid the eggs I’m eating eat healthier, live better in “spacious barns”, and drink, “cool, pure water from a deep well”. I mean.. I guess that’s the reasons I bought the eggs. But, I didn’t really need the god damn details.
“Our chickens are massaged with oils from the tears of fairies living in the caves of Narnia. They feed on a combination of hand plucked cornmeal, fresh cool milk, & veal; which itself is organically fed and massaged daily by a 24 hour team of nationally certified animal massage therapists. At night, we softly whisper poems from Robert Frost to the chickens, hug them, gently kiss them, tell them we love each of them individually, and let them know that no matter what happens in their lives- they are special. When a chicken eventually lays an egg, the egg is handled with white glove service, and the chicken is immediately attended to with grief counselors (if necessary).”
“Now please, enjoy your eggs with the words of Robert Frost, of who we’ve paid thousands of dollars in royalties to just so you can start your day with thoughts of a gun-free society”.
Anyway, I’m officially switching to Wheaties. At least I know the overpaid steroid addicts and cocaine abusing, model banging, shiftless celebrities they glorify are human-fucking-beings. Robert Frost.. Pshhhhhhh!
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and this is why i eat what tastes good, not whats good for me.
also if the dudes handling the food have a beard like urs im def not eating shit from there. no hair in my cold cuts please.
checked out those black bart t’s heated you got the best one out. the others arent that great.