Hey, don’t “humanely” slaughter me and eat my entrails. I’m just relaying the message. And that message comes from the delightfully bitchy “Fed Up” by B.R. Myers in the March issue of The Atlantic. (Online it’s called “The Moral Crusade Against Foodies,” which gets more to the point, but isn’t nearly as much fun as my headline.)
Before I continue, let me say this much. In the past, I’ve found B.R. Myers to range from sanctimonious in his own right to flat out wrong. I’m sure if he ever bothered to read my book, he’d vomit on its pages and then set the thing on fire. But I’d still get a kick out of it. If you asked me to describe his style, I’d tell you to imagine taking my “Get Off My Lawn” persona, raising it in a cage in a room with no natural light, depriving it of love and human kindness, then feeding it a mix of steroids and estrogen. The result can be over the top, but it sure as hell is entertaining. (I say all this even with the sneaking suspicion he’s a vegetarian.)
Continue reading “Foodies: Amoral, Sanctimonious Jerks Who Can’t Write”
KEN WHEATON 