of carnivors and men

There's this alien film at the cinema. It looks scaaary..




.. but 90% of movies are scaaary for me so, its beyond the point. What is within the point is the following;

I was trying to think of a good excuse to convince myself I should stop eating meat; the real reasons being that it makes me fat quicker and that how they "grow" the meat today is not altogether too healthy. But the real reason did not stop me from eating it so plan B was to decieve myself with a fake reason. Now that I'm past that phase; yes, it was a stupid plan, but it actually led me to a really good reason why I (and everyone else for that matter) should stop eating meat.

Ok, Goodnight and see you at the next blog post.








Haha, no. Jokes apart. We eat meat, ie: we exterminate other creatures (and the only reason why they are not extinct is that we actually mass produce them so we can eventually exterminate them) because people believe the Survival of the Fittest Theory. Ok, fine. But that equation is nice and comfy because we are the fittest. The chickens that we eat cannot think on the same lines because, hey, they're not the fittest. So, thinking back about the movie, I put in aliens that are actually fitter than human beings into the equation, and surprise! the equation is no longer comfortable. If carnivor aliens had to come along, according to the equation that humans so carefully devised, they would have all the right in the world to eat us. And we would not have any "voce in capitolo". Terrifying and cringing to say the least.

Basically now I get the feeling that the Survival of the Fittest Theory is just a lame excuse that we invented to make us less guilty of killing other creatures.

For now its just a feeling/incling. I'll let it age for a while in my parking lot and see what turns up.. but its definitly some to CHEW ON ..


*munch*

Dieters guide to salads around Malta (2)

The newest, and probably most effective scheme of helping customers keep their diet is on the market. I am impressed at the efficiency of this method, absolutely flabbergasted, dumb-struck, fascinated.. you name it.

Well, against my better judgement I accepted my partner's wish to visit this place, let me just say it's in the same area as the first insert..closer to the sea this time. The first signs of disaster (yes, the first paragraph was pure sarcasm) came immediately as we stepped into the restaurant and noted that all the clients were sitting outside.. no one was inside, except, obviously, us.

So, it took us (and I'm not exegerating) 20minutes to order, and I had to go up to the waiter and plead him to come and take the order. Don't ask me why we hadn't walked out by that time.
Probably my instict for a, let's call it scoop.

So the waitress came, and took our order.. and no, the food didn't take ages to arrive. BUT..as soon as it rested itself infront of our hungry selves, what could only be compared to a restaurant-scale volcano eruption took place. The waiters started a full-blown verbal fight. It was amazing. I was trying to eat this huge plate of lettuce, listening to men being atributed out-dated body parts, and swear words which would have scandalized an anti-christian, creative pirate. And all this was being exchanged with the delicacy and consideration of an elephant with a bad constipation.

"Ghidli x'jibqa fik?!" would be an ideal maltese saying. We ended up totally spaced, scared to ask for the bill. You can imagine how much tips they got. No, not nothing. 2 euro cents has a better impact.

And the waitress had the face to ask "was the food to your liking?" as we walked out. "yes the food was..not the entertainment though."

Dieters' guide to salads around Malta

Panic spread inside the inner most layers of the Earth's core. Lava boiled at temperatures unthinkable, earthquakes spread out in square ripples, and undescovered petrolium turned bright pink.

I had stepped upon something worse than cow dung on a midsummer's day nightmare.. I had stepped upon a God begotten SCALES *shock*

For a few minutes Earth itself stopped moving and silence ruled the plains while the small, red arrow skidded across the numbers. 20kg.. 30kg.. 40kg.. 50kg.. (silent prayers) alas 60kg.. until it stopped on the trecherous 64kg.

Oh Lord. Not again! Many months, and sweat beads ago I had been this size.. but I had ran, and walked, and lifted, and shifted, and thrown and picked until I was a nice 55kg. Where did all the fat come back from?! The BASTARD!

What is worse is that summer is around the corner, and since the sea is going to be infested by jellyfish.. all the macho-hunks who in the past tempested the blue waves with shiny smiles and tortelli-six-packs will be carpeting the ruddy beaches! That rubs off any intention on my side to lay unhassled, bum towards the blue skies, slowly baking and turning sexy chocolate brown.

Two options present themselves: I can either dive in, magic wand in hand and disintagrate the invading jelly-fish or RE-loose the gained weight. Unfortunately no magic wand has yet been known to disintegrate jelly substances, so the choice is no longer a choice.

And this is where the title to this blogg starts making sense. Its already widely known, altough mostly as a legend, that I attend gym. So obviously a slight instensification of the activity in there.. possibly not the admiring activity, will be required. Another thing is a resolution to eat greens, or anything which isn't green but has seeds, tastes aweful and is generally fed to rabbits.

So, finding myself at a restaurant with an inviting Italian name yesterday, I sat at a table with my slim, and therefore not worried partner. The menu is averagely vast, until you get to the 'salads'. Under this title you find all sorts of things which, yes, make the salad list look long, but NO, aren't salads. Among the 2 or 3 options to genuin salad I picked the Ceaser salad, which seemed to be the less fattening of the lot.

Ceasar salad is lettuce, chicken, bacon, croutons, parmesan cheese and ceasar dressing (what is ceasar dressing? .. search me). Well, it was all that in abundance, especially lettuce. I quite enjoyed the lot, and the chit chat with the happy partner eating a happy pizza. A nice cappuccino ended the meal and we were out of there before too long.

And you would think the story ends there, but.. what respectable story would this be if it didn't have a twist in the end? The twist is infact a twist. More than one actually... in my stomach. I spent the night twisting in bed with aches and pains in my already fat-battered stomach. I will not give details regarding my appearance this morning. I'll spare you the details, and me the shame.