I'm an animal.

Since no one seems to be particularly alive I hereby allow myself to ponder freely upon whatever I feel like. For example, inspired by my dad and Ape’s family: The immorality of mixing meat from different animals in one sole dish.

You should know, that for the Ape family it is something of a challenge to put as many different animal meats in the same dish, and get away with it (something which they don’t always manage). As for my dad, he brought me disgust and inspiration when telling me of an extravagant dish consisting of a large turkey, in which there was a goose, in which there was a chicken, in which there was dove, in which there was a quail. And in the quail layeth an egg. Yeah, an egg in a bird, in a bird, in a bird… Or something along those lines. This is something that the old Romans used to eat. According to my dad.

Like the Janssons, I love food-related challenges. And like some of the more spoilt Romans, I adore gluttony. But there is something absolutely unethical in putting meat from different animals in the same dish.* I say we lose a portion of our humanity for every bacon-enfolded chicken breast we cut into.

Let’s say I was killed for food. I died for you. Then at least make me the star of your meal. I gave my life for your fucking jambalaya, don’t throw in a damn chicken next to me! Or a pork sausage. Or something else dead with a potential soul that isn’t mine. And don’t you dare eat me on weekdays. At least not my good parts. You're just shoving me right into your mouth without really tasting. Have my intestines for a hasty Tuesday tv-dinner, but damn you if you consume my fine buttocks in front of Days of our Lives! See me, see my value! Invite your friends to indulge me. Or better, have them watch you indulge in me. Make a sauce béarnaise to go with my inner thighs or smoke my cheeks with juniper berries. I don’t care exactly how you prepare me, as long as you do it with love and devotion. Think of me, who laid down my life to satisfy you.

One dish, one meat, one life, one soul, one love.

*Some of you out there might consider it absolutely unethical eating animals in the first place. And let’s not forget, we do have a former vegan in our midst (however, these days she’s *only* militant). I too, find it a somewhat weird and questionable custom, killing for food. But it is how I was brought up. The problem is that meat and the animals who bring it to us are way underrated. Cherish the meat, cherish the animals.

Help me help you help yourself. And then let's go public!

So what we did was we put tiny stretched out on a couch, after we had finished a cider & soup-dinner and a delicious dark and white chocolate cake covered in various roasted nuts. Having briefly discussed whether a canapé is a divan or finger food, we quickly identified tiny's very outspoken wish to “become normal” as the key symptom of her disease. With the help of Rorschach ink blots we encouraged her to see genitals where she at first glance had seen nothing but factories and Santas. When she had hugged a pillow for thirty minutes or so, while getting a jellybean for each of what we considered to be the only one correct genital-answer to the ink-blot pictures, we finished the session and watched half an episode of the unfathomable series named True Blood. I think, all in all, we did good, Ape and I.

According to Lisa, in France, all you have to do to work as a psychoanalyst is to have undergone psychoanalysis yourself. Yup. It's what I’d like to call a “Plan B”.

These are tiny's "two santas" that we successfully made her turn into a "vagina"

Heroinist, javisst!

Det gläder mig att Vett&Etikett-workshopen var en sådan utomordentligt lagom lyckad tillställning. Vi lärde oss massor, mest genom att studera vårt beteende och, efter att ha stämt av med regelboken, notera det på minussidan. Ni ska veta att jag njöt! Av felandet. Av lärandet. Av det nya. Dock kan jag inte så mycket än. Inte ens i teorin! Jag noterade med beundran och avund hur tiny efter endast några minuters bokbläddrande hade snappat upp flertalet matnyttiga förbud om servettgnidningar och fingrar i tanden medan jag bara kunde komma ihåg ett stycke om hur man som maskulin människa bör föra sina armar för att inte uppfattas som apa. Jag befarar att jag har mikrat alltför mycket mat i för uppgiften olämpliga plastbyttor. TV presenterade i veckan information om hur forskning har bevisat att det tydligen finns apor som fått försämrad inlärningssvårighet när de inmundigat doser av det giftiga ämnet BPA som finns i vissa plaster och kan blanda sig med mat vid uppvärmning. Jag är primat! Och på tal om gift. Tycker ni inte att skjuta heroin är lite grovt? LITE grovt? Heroinist. Smaka på det ordet. Lite grovt. Lite som naturist. Jag respekterar det du gör. Jag är fascinerad över ditt sätt att vränga världsramar, men du är grov!

I en lite bättre värld räcker det med BPA och ett höftskynke.



Jag känner med aporna.