I Am a Proud Double Cheeseburger and I Will Not Let a Vegan Decide My Worth
Find those that love and respect you as you are
With my glistening patties and luscious full buns I know I’m hot, especially when I’m straight off the grill. I’m a double cheeseburger and I don’t need anyone to tell me my worth. It is I, not the milkshakes, that bring all the boys to the yard.
Lately I’ve noticed a trend. Curious vegans creep my way, wanting a bite of forbidden meat. Plaid shirts, work shirts, no shirts, they come in all shapes and sizes. The one unifier is their supposed allegiance to the vegan lifestyle.
Oh, they come into my establishment with their friends, sneering as their meat-loving companions devour me whole. They offer their opinions as to why I’m no good. But I’ve seen that look in their eye. That hunger.
Many sneak into the restaurant alone, during off hours when they know they won’t be seen. Do they get a salad? No. It’s me they ask for.
They make me believe that I’m the one for them. “I’ve tried the whole vegetable thing and it’s just not for me.” These sweet nothings were always whispered. I used to think it was romantic. But it’s just so no one overheard their betrayal.
Then without notice they turn tail and run back to their precious kale salad while shouting, “It meant nothing!”
Sadly all I can do is watch, hurt. A double cheeseburger double-crossed. I’m not made of stone, which tastes terrible. I used to be an organic thing. I know what it is to feel.
Never again! My guard is up. Woe to the vegan who looks at his omnivore friend’s plate and says, “Could I just have a tas — ” I shall strike them down before they finish that question.
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