My Last Supper, Literally

The other night I grilled a 1.5” thick porterhouse steak to a perfect medium rare. Internal temp of 140 degrees and then it sat covered for 10 mins to complete the cooking process (Bobby Flay would be so proud). To fully realize this entrée I steamed some cauliflower and whipped up these tasty garlic mashed potatoes. Sounds pretty good, huh? Well I forgot to mention one other side dish- pubes. I’ll elaborate.

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food."

-George Bernard Shaw

By the time I had plated my meal and sat down w/ a glass of cab, I noticed a curly, brown hair resting like a fainéant on my steak. This was no eyelash. Not to be outdone, an even longer sister-pube was soon identified basking next to the butter melting on my mashed potatoes. Follicular ambush; 2 pubes at once! Now I was wearing flannel boxers, jeans and a collared shirt while all of this transpired. So unless this was like a Houdini pube, I don’t see how it could’ve escaped the cover of my clothes. Additionally, the air temp inside the grill was 400-550 degrees, much too warm for any normal pube to survive unscathed. I can’t rule out w/ certainty that the pubes weren’t mine. And it would make sense that pubes containing this high level of durability and intrepidity would come from an individual such as myself. Not that they looked familiar or anything.

Still it was enough to make me pause in disgust for several seconds. After this brief hesitation I promptly devoured the meal, of course removing the twin pubes first.

I didn't have a strong ending for this one, but I thought that this protestor's sign was pretty funny b/c it works on multiple levels. 2 levels, actually.