More People Saying: Stop Telling Me What To Eat!

Are you sick of the food nazis, the food police, the people who try to tell you what you should eat?  I know I am.  I am sick and tired of all the people you see on television and on the radio and in the news, telling you what’s not healthy.  It’s as if there is this big factory and the only thing it produces is studies about food, and all of those studies are bad.  No matter what the food product is, if you eat it and enjoy it, it is slowly killing you.  Or it is quickly killing you and you had better be prepared to meet your maker before you finish lunch.

Now, I don’t want anyone to be unhealthy.  We all love to be sexy and healthy, although some of us are sexier and healthier than others.  It can be a full time job, sculpting your body so you have that taut stomach, those curves, that rear end that men desire.  But aren’t we going just a little too far?  Do we really need to be hassling people all the time about what they are allowed to eat?

I’m not telling you anything you don’t know when I complain about this gigantic industry whose only job is to tell us to stop eating the things we eat. If it were up to the food police, we’d subsist entirely on a diet of bean sprouts, wheat germ, and lettuce, except for those months when the lettuce is contaminated with bacteria or the Jumping Mexican Shits or hepatitis or lead-based Chinese paint. During those months we’d drink water until they told us about the heavy minerals and trace pharmaceuticals in that.

The food police tell us that the food we eat is unhealthy as if they’re telling us something we don’t know. Why, thank you, asshole. Until this very moment, when you leaned over me and smugly announced that my mozzarella sticks were going to kill me, I was in under the impression they were fucking health food. Thank God you were here to set me straight! I hate to think what I might have had for dinner had you not interjected your incredibly enlightened opinion, fuckface.

We’ll just ignore, for now, the fact that every single “study” the food police report to us, about what foods are healthy and what foods are secretly and insidiously killing us slowly, is almost immediately contradicted by another study whose results are diametrically opposed to those in the first study. We’ve come to accept that there are a bunch of assholes in white lab coats working in a laboratory somewhere in the Midwest, feeding hamburgers and minute doses of red wine and little aspirins to white mice.

Every day they catalog a few dead mice and then alert the AP wire to whatever it is that’s supposed to kill you that day. Our media report this with their usual blind, unquestioning, uncritical, breathless eagerness, and then our morning news idiots bat it around during their scheduled banter segments, telling us the minute details of their personal lives as if we’re likely to give a damn. These people all have names like “Chet” and “Mindy” and “Bob-with-Sports,” and we’re supposed to take them seriously while they contradict themselves day after day, because, after all, they’re the food police. Stay tuned for What You Like to Eat That You Shouldn’t with host Elizabeth Meddler, right after the break. Plus, which of you lives next door to a child molester axe murderer? Tune in tonight at 6pm to find out and, if you can’t tune in then, well, fuck you and you’re family, because they’ll be dead by quarter after six.

Look, you food nazi jerks, I know that the food I eat isn’t good for me. I eat it because it tastes good and because I’ve got enough frigging problems in my life without moping around on a diet of cottage cheese and hamster pellets. I don’t need you to tell me about it. It’s common knowledge and I’m a grown-up whose making his own decisions. Just like I don’t want my waiter interrogating me about the vegetables on my plate that I had to eat my way around, I don’t particularly need you to impart your great wisdom to me in the cafeteria, on the street, or at a family dinner. I’m not fucking stupid. You’re not telling me anything that’s news to me. Get used to the idea that not everybody eats healthy. And then shut your pie hole, or whatever it is you call that gash under your nose if you don’t eat pie, because I’m not in the mood to listen to you prattle.

And while you’re at it, smoke if you want to. Vape if you need to.

The girlfriend of a friend of mine once accused him, and me, of “smoking like Nazis.” I’m not sure exactly what she meant by that, but I assume it has something to do with the fact that, when I smoke, I hold the cigarette pinched in my fingertips, not jutting through the sides of the fingers — you know, not threaded through the slats formed by fingers the way most smokers do it.

I picked up the habit of smoking this way from actor Powers Boothe in the movie Extreme Prejudice. Boothe is at his absolute best in this role. He’s a sweating, incredibly focused, deeply self-loathing bastard who kills because he doesn’t know how else to relate to human beings. He hates himself so much that everything he does radiates an intensity that is almost uncomfortable.

When Powers Boothe smokes in that movie, he smokes like I now do — pinching that cigarette between his fingertips as if that cigarette is, at that moment in his life, the most important thing in the universe, the anchor holding him however tenuously to his sanity.

Anything worth doing should command that level of your focus, at least until you are comfortable in your accomplishment of it. Love like you mean it. Fight like your life depends on it. Eat like your meal is your last. And smoke like Powers Boothe.