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More Meat
Part Four of an Open Letter to Master Ape, by Mucker Dog, with the Assistance of Silverback
© 2023 James LaFond
SEP/14/23
First, since its getting real about now, let’s take the oven mitts off and get down to it. You have had me under double jeopardy for our entire relationship, and I have not held it against you because I don’t even think your daft ass knows! Maybe it came through in the name, Mucker, with that maybe being close to mud. So perhaps, somewhere in your racist subconscious you realized that I’m black. Hello! I make James Brown look like he’s white! I just got the two brown spots so you can see me in the dark and not shot me.
I mean—I am actually black! And I have never gotten any apologies like you pale apes give to the brown apes. I never get to go shit on the lawn of the little ape kennel where your pups go during the day on Martin Luther King’s birthday, no do I?
I’m jus’ sayin’ you should have been a little more sensitive to my 40,000 years of oppression. Now that your back on your heels, it’s time to go for the, eh, you is the boss, my owner, My Master, so let’s just call it dinner.
Let us see, how can I word this diplomatically, so that your big ape ass will understand?
MEAT, MOTHERFUCKER! MEAT!!
Look, its simple biology.
You—as big as you are—are an omnivore, like a bear, hence the dichotomy of our relationship as noted in the mythological segment. You can and will eat anything and even enjoy that monkey food. It’s in your design. It makes you people easy to breed into armies of miserable slaves. Yet, you, not a day goes by when I don’t see your big ass eating some meat, some nice succulent flesh.
Now me, little old me, only designed by you to last for 20 years where your creator designed you to last four 80—look, it’s not your fault you’re not God, but you’ll still owe us in this here account. God designed us to eat meat, all day, every day. And you fucked with us, turned us into freaks, midgets, sissies, puff balls—fucking hot dogs! You even created a race of us that looks like a sausage! Can you say WTF? Okay, that is the way it is—little dogger cain’t do nuffin’ ‘bout dat.
But come on, Massa, all you feed us is cereal, the same shit you feed your kids, but without the marshmallows and sugar and cinnamon that you apes love so much.
So—fuck that!—this is no collective bargaining! This, is, the, way, it’s gonna be!
THAZ RIGHT!
When you’re giant ass lumbers up outa bed after throwing dick down range into some bitch you can’t stand to have a conversation with, ah, could you put some meat in the bowl? I mean you dropped some into hers and you don’ even like the bitch! Is it that hard? No, I don’t want the bowl clean—fuck THAT. My digestive system is like a steel furnace. Whatever I put in it dies—boom, done, down the shall-I-leave-it-at-the-foot-of-your-bed canal.
And, when you head off to the salt mines, or whatever shameless, degrading, soul-strangling shit you do to keep your master from making him feed you the shit that you feed me, well, you can put some of that down in the bowl. I’ll use it to clean my teeth and to form a nice cushion in my meat oven, for that juicy hamburger that will be sliding down my throat at the speed of gulp for dinner.
Look, it won’t cost you shit. Silverback—though I can hardly believe this old boon eats this shit himself—gets these two quarter pound, 100% beef burgers at the dolla’ sto’ for—you guessed it, Massa—a dolla! It will only cost you $7 a week to upgrade my diet immeasurably. Every third day, I would like poke chop, not breaded, blade in on the iron, but remove that gut rippin’ think before I get at it because I might not be able to hold back! Acourse, steak I’ll do—en keep yo paws off da bone—jus’ sayin’ while I can.
Yeah, your omnivorous ass will get all squeamish on me when you read the contents and see that its beef and beef hearts. But shit, back in the ole ass day—grrrrr—we ate it all. Hell, we’d start by ripping that cow’s…
I’ve been advised to curtail this line of discovery and just reiterate, Dis dawg ain’t picky, but if you put meat in the bowl fo dinna, soon as da bitch o’ da week starts getting snippy, I’ll piss on her fat girl pants and send her down the road with her used kitty so we can watch the Call of The Wild and King Kong, while we gnaw on what?
Yep, sticks of greasy meat!
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