We Are Inedible Pieces of Meat


A few months ago, in this country, the media saw dozens of corpses — stabbed in the eyes, shot in the genitals, swarms of flies having a sumptuous feast — they said it’s “inhuman.”

I went a bit further and read about cannibalism. Apparently, it has existed from time immemorial in almost every part of the world. Asians did it, Africans too, and you bet, even Americans. Today, the Korowai tribe in Papua, New Guinea is believed to be still practicing the gory ritual. While filming a documentary, the crew of a television show attempted to rescue a 6-year-old boy from being ham dinner because he was accused of being a witch doctor. They failed. I have reason to believe the boy’s body now fertilizes the ground that grows all sorts of healthy shrubberies and trees there. It’s hard not to feel sick after you read all of this taboo trivia.

But to me, it all comes down to one thing: We’re meat and we hate it.

Having exposed myself to all this macabre information from the comfort of my own sleek wooden desk at the office, I came to realize how much time we devote on erasing and eradicating the fact that we’re meat. I don’t think it’s a bad cultural consensus, though I think our actions say far more than we would like to believe.

If we are so averse to the fact that we’re pieces of bloody, fatty meat walking on concrete and riding fancy elevators, then it must mean one thing: we would like to go as far away from the meatiness of it all and treat ourselves as inorganic, non-living entities.

We fear blood. Blood means there are unnecessary openings in our bodies that endanger our precious life. As much as possible, we would like to move blood away from our lives and put it in venues where we could watch it when we miss it but where it wouldn’t harm us. It doesn’t hurt to watch blood spilling inside a theater showing the latest Saw flick, for instance.

Other than that, we’re through with blood. If we had a choice, we’d completely drain ourselves of it and replace the liquid in our veins with something more cool and colorful, like blue Gatorade or yellow lemon juice. Yes, we wouldn’t be bothered about getting an occasional paper cut if a rainbow-colored fluid oozed out of the wound. We’d probably even lick our finger good like it’s a sweet candy lollipop (’cause if we had our way, blood would taste like confectionery). Though if your body is filled with rainbow-colored liquid in the future, that might be a sign you’re participating in the third gender movement.

Back to the present, our daily rituals seem to be only aimed at forgetting the horrible fact that we’re meat. Clothing ourselves with fine garments, putting on a second skin, is not only meant to protect ourselves from the elements and make us presentable or beautiful. It’s also a way to hide our skin — the primary symbol of our meaty nature. Women put on makeup, wear their sweet perfume, slip on their silky tights, stockings, knee-high socks, and style their hair so that it looks as far from their morning hair as possible to hide every bit of evidence of their chewy, meaty nature. Men shave their faces, their pubes, sometimes their armpits; they proudly wear their shiny ties and black leather shoes to look almost impossible to ruffle, like an immovable rock — lifeless, hard, secure, no trace of meat anywhere.

And when we show our skins, the activity is only aimed at achieving a single goal: mating and propagating our meatless species. No man thinks a lady’s plump breasts are made up of fat clinging on a wall of muscular tissue when he ogles them. They just remind him of her buttocks, a symbol of fertility since it’s in the proximity of the female genitalia, therefore he is turned on. The fact that she’s a beautiful package of flesh and bones doesn’t strike him at all.

And when a lady looks at the rock-hard chest and abs of a manly man, she never realizes that these features are protein-filled muscles which developed because of his meat-growing routines at the gym. She is also likely blind to the fact that the beautiful face of this man sits below a soft, oozing, blob of noodle-like meat called the brain, which Hannibal Lecter used to literally fry in these “classic” films. It is also worthwhile mentioning that his lovely powerful dick is a blood-filled tissue when erect; and a German man by the name of Armin Meiwes once cut off the same bodily organ of a guy named Bernd Jürgen Brandes and sauteed it so they could both devour it like regular sausage.

All of this, I must say, is very important for society to function and the human species to continue. Had we known how fragile our bodies were, we would probably find it frightening to even cross the street because a double decker bus might spill our meaty guts all over the pavement. And this, especially in the ruthless roads of the Philippines, regularly happens. The other day, my girlfriend showed me a picture of a man who was ran over by a vehicle. The man’s corpse was so unrecognizable, with half his brains crawling out of his skull, that she couldn’t believe it was real. She said it was fake. She said it looks like a “pig.” I didn’t think so. I thought it was the real deal — a guy wearing cologne, clothed in his cool green shirt and smooth blue jeans, walking in the city for another day’s work, suddenly forced to exposed his meatiness by a speeding vehicle. And now chunks of his thighs are splattered all over the road, and his blood marked where the tires split him in several different sections.

When faced with all of this, we could only say it’s “inhuman.” At the back of our minds, we reaffirm our belief that no human is made up of something so transitory, biodegradable and organic as meat. Humans are completely customizable beings, like laptops and cell phones and online avatars. We are far above meat. A bright future civilization would be characterized by a society devoid of gruesome murders, revolting sicknesses, and other natural, meaty encounters. The future where we’re headed to is cool and lifeless.

Hopefully, our modern productive society occasionally wracked by economic crises takes care of our inorganic lifestyles, so that we never have to reconsider our meatiness again. History says that in times of famine, people have eaten their kind like regular beef to survive. Wars, eternally the source of suffering and inhumanity, have also led some to feast on the shanks, flanks and sirloins of their fellowmen.

The way things are going, we may all turn vegan in the future. That, or armageddon strikes and we’re all cast in a real zombie apocalypse without any heroes but just a bloody civilization of brain-gobbling, heart-chewing maniacs.


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