Because I’m not afraid to call all of them out—
It was brought to my attention—during my second semester of college English—, that dinosaurs were not these rip-roaring ribeye roasters we’ve made them out to be. Like Jaws, the Jurassic Park series only plays to the idea that we need meat to survive. Plant-eating dinosaurs—really? It’s something to scoff and almost let be as the fairy tale depicted in your child’s favorite T-Rex book.
Being that there were no 7-11’s or hometown milk joints, many of these monsters were plant-eaters—not vegetarians, or vegans, or even healthy raw vegans. As our dictionaries get bulkier in order to remain politically polite when identifying obese, fat, and baby fat or meat-eaters, fish-eaters, and ground-up soy-suckers, we become more like the dinosaur—extinct that is.
No butter. No eggs. No milk. Suck on that vegetarians.
No tofu. No coconut eggnog. No veggie burgers. Suck on that unhealthy vegans.
And because ‘Paleo’ is nothing but a rehashing of what we will do in the future—thousands of years from now—, suck on that Paleo people. I used the prefix ‘re’ to describe the present doing again of something that has not yet happened, so let me type this one out a bit more.
Paleo, by definition, means: older or ancient, esp. relating to the geological past. Essentially, this is one of the only diets that can continually change—virtually re-writing itself—overtime, but still remain true to Webster. It is one sweet loophole if you ask me. Don’t believe me? Jump in my time machine to 4012 when the Paleo people are chowing down on the remains of the fast food forests—these forests do not yet exist, but imagine branches of burgers, tree branches that is.
What started out as one caveman wondering if deer catch on fire because they’re brown like lumber, exploded into present-day kielbasa festivals. And because deer ran faster than trees, other things—much slower things—were lit on fire.
My ideas will be hijacked by some witty young man or woman in the future, but as long I remain progressive and steer clear of such club-wielding redundancy, I’m okay with that. It whittles down to us all having the choice of whether or not we want things like cancer, long hours in the kitchen, or to even be thirsty. You can choose wisely or you can choose as they did.
Or you can watch Dr. Oz and flip-flop like the burnt pancakes that easy-bake oven spits out.