That moment, standing in front of the meat case at your local comestibles emporium, when your soul implodes under the pressure from the detonation of an EPIPHANY.
You’re looking at steaks suitable for the marking of that civilization-crushing signing of that petty break-up email penned by a bunch of selfish pale penis people white supremacists who detest their moral and intellectual betters in order that they can eventually create a more perfect implementation of systemic racism and unjust oppression as later codified in their laughably horrible “Constitution” and you realize…
1. Geez yer a pretentious twatwaffle of a scribe today and,
2. You are screaming past the second standard deviation on the descending leg of the “Get off my lawn!” side of the Bell Curve of entropy as you keep picking up packets of finely marbled beastflesh muttering, “Dammit, these are all too big!” as you rummage for hunks of flesh even your mother would have rejected as too small.
Dear Lord, take me now.