"Can we -- can we have PILLS, and COOK the corn??"

A List of Some Things I Reject

--The existence of a person legally named Channing Tatum.

--The alleged genius of Arcade Fire.

--Macaroons.

--Work parties on non-work time.

--The idea that anyone, anywhere thinks Family Guy is funny.

--The notion of "high meat," which is a near-criminally misleadingly light name for a very, very fucking horrifying thing: Raw, rotted meat, which certain culty freaks eat ON PURPOSE. I learned about it in a New Yorker article, and holy rictus-faced SHATNER do I wish I hadn't.

Now SERIOUSLY, dammit -- I have my rants (the raison d'etre of this blog), and I have my strong opinions about food, and all that, but I try really hard not to comment on what other people eat (at least while they're eating it in my vicinity, because godDAMN is it rude to disparage what's on your friend's plate). But this is waaaay beyond tolerable. This is a hill I will fight and die on.

The online version doesn't mention the high meat, so I'll share from the print version:

Torma ducked into the back of the house and returned with a swing-top jar in his hands. Inside lay a piece of organic beef, badly spoiled. It was afloat in an ochre-colored puddle of its own decay, the muscle and slime indistinguishable, like a slug. High meat is the flesh of any animal that has been allowed to decompose.
...
When Torma unclamped his jar, a sickly-sweet miasma filled the air -- an odor as natural as it was repellent. Decaying meat produces its own peculiar scent molecules, I later
learned, with names like putrescine and cadaverine. I could still smell them on my clothes hours later. Torma stuck two fingers down the jar and fished out a long, wet sliver. "Want a taste?" he said.

You're welcome, Internets. Who wants lunch?