Tag Archives: meat

Meat-A-Mucil: The Ailment for What Cures You

Meat-A-Mucil: The Ailment for what cures you


Magical Cures

Watching international darts the other night while I procrastinated heavily with regards to my other work (taxes, filing, laundry, child-harassing, dish washer-filling), I was amazed and mesmerized at how Chisnell skillfully and deftly defeated Whitlock in a duel between overweight, sweaty, tattooed, proletariat, brush-cut, high functioning alcoholic, white males in the O2 arena in Dublin, Ireland. The call of “One hundred and eighty” (three treble 20’s for the uninitiated) rang out repeatedly throw after throw, as litres, gallons, pints, and no doubt kegs of beer were inhaled by the dart tossers. More amazingly, thousands upon thousands of people, all –including children– under the influence of vats of booze, with pickled livers, and at best possessing double-digit IQs had piled into an arena to watch what the commentators called “true sport.” All I could think was this fermented yeast bread-and-circuses diversion cures the daily misery that is the life of those who are dart-obsessed.

I won’t get into the slippery slope of an argument about darts being ‘sport’ any more than poker is, but for reasons unbeknownst to me, they are both are frequently broadcast on sports channels across the globe. How competitive knitting hasn’t made it on to the roster of programming still eludes me.

Ever More Slippery Slope

How did we get from the topic of darts to the idea of “Meat-A-Mucil”? Well, truth be told, it’s an idea I borrowed from my friend Lars, who will no doubt sue me at some point for mentioning his name, or more likely for having electronically acknowledged our friendship in a public forum that no one reads, except for the mentally ill, the socially outcast and the genetically corrupt. But I digress.

As I was watching the aforementioned dart spectacle, there was a commercial for yet another miracle cream that will make your joints healthy, free you of pain instantly, give you a longer life, make you handsomer, taller, etc. As always it was pitched by some guy who claims to be a doctor, but looks like he was recently released from medium security prison for something akin to selling stolen goods. Trustworthy he was not, but people seeking a cure for anything, be it baldness, bladder control, belligerence, or birthmarks shaped like a South Pacific atoll, will give into the pain and lay out cash for something of dubious origin usually in a tube. Heck, if some company made a tube of Oreos or my mother’s lemon squares, and its side effects included instantaneous human combustion, I’d lay out cash for a tube now.

New Products

With that millimeter-deep thought in mind, I thought that the world could use a new kind of product to counter all the bad press vexatious vegans and vile vegetarians give meat-eaters. Hence Meat-A-Mucil. Sounds vile? Sure it does. But so does “processed cheese spread” and that stuff sells by the boatload among people with broken tastebuds and 22 chromosomes. Look, meat-eaters can’t help themselves. Their incisors need honing and chewing on a steak bone, or a bacon cheeseburger, or an ostrich steak with fries. And maybe a little cheese cake as chaser. It has been clinically proven in a remote lab with little or no peer review, or actual scientific equipment, that carnivorous activity answers a need as primordial and ancient as watching TV to avoid talking to your spouse.

Sure, carnivores could rationally give up ingesting huge quantities of flesh-based protein in an effort to save their bowels, or maybe reduce the effects of run-off from industrial cow factories. Or to impress that free-loving vegetarian honey with low standards. But why start now? I’d have to write about something else.

It’s late and I am cranky.

Heretically yours,

The Swami of Salami, the Guru of Goulash, the Maven of Meat

Dinner Talk

It’s ungodly cold outside tonight, about -18ºC, or 0ºF for my American friends and family, and I am sitting in my sub-arctic basement with my wonderful wife, who miraculously hasn’t killed me for ignoring her all the while I cartoon away like a man-child possessed. Such is the luxury/curse of nearly 12 years of marriage.

This installment of the world’s most dangerous illustrated intercontinental ballistic weapon of mass humor that occasionally has a semi-sentient comment about society, human nature or just tries to make a silly fart joke comes to you from deep within the external hard drive of the Druker house. In short, I have wanted to do this story line for literally two years. It’ll start slowly, and wander aimlessly, but eventually, with enough medication, sleep and booze, it will find a coherent end. And then I can go onto my next idea, which is really absurd.

However, there will be a bit of an extended break between this episode of Stanko & Tibor and the following one (stop jumping for joy, ma) as I want to work on the website and update the store part with some new merchandise and images that you will be able to look at, and maybe even o=purchase if you can pry a few dollars/euro/pesos loose to spread the word about the finest comic this side of an insane asylum.

On a completely unrelated note, please check out what I think is the funniest and foulest commercial I have seen in a while. It’s hysterical, it’s on my automotive blog.

Oh, and to the Gordon & Eisner families, congrats on the new child. Just when you thought it was safe to go back to sleep…

Keep the faith, fight the power, and eat fried and breaded foods.

-Jonny D

Stanko & Tibor - Dishonesty Folly
Stanko & Tibor - Dishonesty, Folly