Not Even the Dog

Given the opportunity, if my end were imminent and I could choose my final meal, my last taste of life, I would choose this:

Massaman Curry (with Beef)
Hawaiian short ribs
A bowl of fresh sliced pineapple
"Apple Pie" caramel apple

And a Thai basil gimlet

I would want those to be my final flavors.

And it is common, I guess, to grant last meals or final requests, a dying man's last pleasures. But, what about the opposite, though? What about the meal you wouldn't want? Maybe if you get a good meal before a bad event, you should get a bad meal before a good event. Or maybe, whatever you did was so horrible, so inhuman, that you would be forced to feast on the nastiest filth available.

So, I contemplated that thought tonight as I sat down for dinner with the kids. Three nights of single parenting left me low on ideas for dinner, so Mac & Cheese it was, per request from the girl.

And, just to Hillbilly it up a little, I microwaved a few hot dogs for protein to go with it. Hebrew National, of course, because they answer to a higher authority...

Again, the girl is smart and she requested a sliced apple on the side instead of the processed meat tubes. So, apples she got. The boy greedily appreciated the extra franks that she turned down.

I, on the other hand, reached into the freezer for a step up. Chicken sausage, I found, "Buffalo Style!" Really, three of the best things rolled into one! How could I go wrong?

Well, it started when I opened the package. Sure, they hadn't been heated yet, but the sausage smelled like neither chicken nor buffalo seasoning. The casing appeared unnatural and there was a vague odor of ass.

Yes, ass. Dirty ass, like after-yard-work-in-August ass. You know, ASS!

Still though, I warmed them up.

With heat and steam, the wrapper's unnatural appearance didn't really change much. It resembled sausage-colored paper. Oh, and the ass-odor strengthened.

The girl enjoyed her orange noodles and apple. The boy woofed down his mac, dogs and apple as well. I sat down with a peppery bowl of orange goodness and my plate of steaming turd-like meat. I figured that the smell may be misleading, and I should at least give the sausage a try.

So I did.

And I quickly realized that I shouldn't have. The smell grew as it neared my nose. I bit, and realized that the paper-like wrapping may very well have been paper, or at the very least, Vellum. The dry gritty meat tasted nothing like chicken or Buffalo sauce. It wasn't even spicy.

It was like the Swisher Sweets of meat. And I quickly recognized that there was no reason to take a second bite.

So, all four sausages, plate and all, were lowered to the ground for the desperate dog to at least enjoy. This is an animal that licks spilled milk from the floor, he licks his own ass, he salivates at the hint of being given a greasy hairy crispy dried pig's ear.

The dog, though, wouldn't eat the sausage. He sniffed it. He looked at it. He sniffed again, then went back to wait beneath the boy's chair for random mac droppings.

The Sausage was so bad, the dog wouldn't eat it. And it made me wonder, was that sausage the literal antithesis to my ideal final meal? It's all accademic, I suppose, but if there were a worst possible meal, what would it be?

Hmm.... I wonder...

Let's see.

It would be that ass sausage for sure.
Maybe a bowl of canned peas.
Three bean salad.
Bread pudding.

Oh, and I would wash it down with that cursed Unicum from Inog and Tytainya's office... good god.

I think I just made myself sick.