Nazi Germany
Zubeer Adolf Hipster - KVAZAR MOLOCH
- Joined
- Aug 15, 2024
- Posts
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IN THE NAME OF GOATIS
You think fire makes it safe?
Fire just makes it polite. It dresses up the glorious savagery of the primal chew in a frilly apron and forces it to say "please" and "thank you." Raw meat doesn't apologize. It bursts onto the palate like a balalaika solo played by a drunken bear.
Your cooked steak is a beige whisper. Raw steak is a crimson shout, a fleshy manifesto declaring its meaty magnificence to the world.
And the textures! Oh, the glorious textures! Oh GOD!
delicious RAW MEAT.
Cooked meat? A predictable surrender to the tooth. Raw meat?
A thrilling adventure! Sometimes it yields with tender grace, other times it's a valiant battle against the sinews, a miniature wrestling match in your mouth where the winner gets a mouthful of magnificent muscle.
It's like a tiny pogrom of flavor, a glorious riot in your oral cavity.
You fear the bacteria jfl Bacteria are just tiny roommates on a delicious adventure. They're the zamfir players at the raw meat rave! Your cooked meat is a sterile, lifeless husk, a barren wasteland devoid of any microbial merriment. It's like a soviet apartment block – functional, but utterly devoid of soul.
Cooking is a conspiracy, I tell you! They want you docile, predictable, nibbling on your flavorless filets like sheep grazing in a beige field. But the raw meat revolutionaries, we know the truth! We know the glorious, untamed power that lies within the uncooked.
Think of the cavemen! Did they have sous vide machines? Did they delicately baste their woolly mammoth with rosemary and thyme? No! They grabbed a hunk of hairy beast and went to town, a primal ballet of tearing and chewing, a symphony of savagery played out under the paleolithic moonlight. That, my friends, is true culinary artistry! Your cooked chicken is a pathetic watercolor; raw meat is a vibrant, visceral Van Gogh.
You’ve become so domesticated, so utterly tamed, that the very idea of raw meat sends shivers down your over-sanitized spines. You’re like house cats afraid of the great outdoors! You’ve traded the thrill of the hunt for the tepid comfort of the microwave. You’ve chosen the culinary equivalent of watching paint dry over wrestling a greased pig.
So go ahead, you cooked-meat cravens. Continue to deny yourselves the raw, unadulterated joy of the uncooked. But we, the raw meat rebels, will be over here, gnawing on the glorious truth, our jaws working in primal harmony, our palates singing the song of the savage and the sublime. You can have your lukewarm lumps of lifeless protein. We’ll take the crimson rebellion, the meaty manifesto, the glorious, untamed feast of the raw! Na zdorovye to that! (But, you know, like, really raw.)
@BigJimsWornOutTires Enjoy your raw meat.
You think fire makes it safe?
Fire just makes it polite. It dresses up the glorious savagery of the primal chew in a frilly apron and forces it to say "please" and "thank you." Raw meat doesn't apologize. It bursts onto the palate like a balalaika solo played by a drunken bear.Your cooked steak is a beige whisper. Raw steak is a crimson shout, a fleshy manifesto declaring its meaty magnificence to the world.
And the textures! Oh, the glorious textures! Oh GOD!
Cooked meat? A predictable surrender to the tooth. Raw meat?
A thrilling adventure! Sometimes it yields with tender grace, other times it's a valiant battle against the sinews, a miniature wrestling match in your mouth where the winner gets a mouthful of magnificent muscle.
It's like a tiny pogrom of flavor, a glorious riot in your oral cavity.
You fear the bacteria jfl Bacteria are just tiny roommates on a delicious adventure. They're the zamfir players at the raw meat rave! Your cooked meat is a sterile, lifeless husk, a barren wasteland devoid of any microbial merriment. It's like a soviet apartment block – functional, but utterly devoid of soul.
Cooking is a conspiracy, I tell you! They want you docile, predictable, nibbling on your flavorless filets like sheep grazing in a beige field. But the raw meat revolutionaries, we know the truth! We know the glorious, untamed power that lies within the uncooked.
Think of the cavemen! Did they have sous vide machines? Did they delicately baste their woolly mammoth with rosemary and thyme? No! They grabbed a hunk of hairy beast and went to town, a primal ballet of tearing and chewing, a symphony of savagery played out under the paleolithic moonlight. That, my friends, is true culinary artistry! Your cooked chicken is a pathetic watercolor; raw meat is a vibrant, visceral Van Gogh.
You’ve become so domesticated, so utterly tamed, that the very idea of raw meat sends shivers down your over-sanitized spines. You’re like house cats afraid of the great outdoors! You’ve traded the thrill of the hunt for the tepid comfort of the microwave. You’ve chosen the culinary equivalent of watching paint dry over wrestling a greased pig.
So go ahead, you cooked-meat cravens. Continue to deny yourselves the raw, unadulterated joy of the uncooked. But we, the raw meat rebels, will be over here, gnawing on the glorious truth, our jaws working in primal harmony, our palates singing the song of the savage and the sublime. You can have your lukewarm lumps of lifeless protein. We’ll take the crimson rebellion, the meaty manifesto, the glorious, untamed feast of the raw! Na zdorovye to that! (But, you know, like, really raw.)
@BigJimsWornOutTires Enjoy your raw meat.
