We were up late. Meridy had just read some sad story involving drawing and quartering, so we decided to write a happy story. Then it got weird. We had a good laugh though. And now, without further ado, here is the classic story of a man and his beef:
Once upon a time, there was a happy world. It ended happily. The end.
Then came the rain. Luckily, there was no drawing and quartering in this story. The townspeople didn’t like violence. They lived in peace with all the vegetables. They ate dirt. Dirt has no soul, so it’s ok to eat it. They all suffered from scurvy, until one day, one man came up with a way to add vitamin c to the dirt. It improved the flavor and their health. And the peasants rejoiced.
But then--there arose a man who refused to eat his dirt. “I won’t do it,” he said, putting down his spade and folding his arms across his chest. Then he spied Old Betsy in the field. His eyes glazed over, he smiled slyly and picked up his spade. He began whistling cheerily as he approached the cow from behind.
Some hours later, another villager commented to his neighbor, “My, somfin’ smells gooood.....” “We aint had nothin’ to eat but maggoty old dirt for three stinkin’ years! [Except they didn’t eat the maggots. Because those wriggling things obviously had souls. Not to mention their unseemly texture.] Let’s saddle up Old Betsy and see what’s cookin’.” Much to his dismay, the villager could not find Old Betsy anywhere.
“Betsy!” he called. “Old Betsy!” Twas then our hero became nervous. “This can’t end well,” he said as he filled his suitcase with personal belongings and hamburgers and fillet mignons etc.
“I must spread my beef everywhere,” said Johnny–for Johnny was his name. “I’ll plant beef trees all along this wilderness frontier!” Sadly, Johnny’s trees never grew. When he got hungry enough, he decided that dirt looked pretty good. “It’s really not that bad after all,” he said to himself as he crunched a savory bite of sediment.
Some weeks later, a curious thing happened to Johnny. He was peacefully munching mud, when a shimmering blob appeared before him. And then the blob spoke. “I am the soul of dirt,” said the blob. Johnny was flabbergasted, exceedingly so. “You mean the soil of dirt, don’t you? Everyone knows dirt has no soul.” “No,” corrected the blob, “I am indeed the soul of dirt. I have come to admonish you to please stop eating me. I do not wish to be digested, I wish to be treated like dirt. I was meant to be trodden upon, but your people desecrate me.” “What can we do? We will starve without dirt. Whatever shall we eat?” Johnny was distraught, exceedingly so. Then the blob spoke yet again. Quoth the blob, “You shall eat cows, and vegetables. Thus shall they fulfill the measure of their creation. You shall combine the cows and the vegetables in a mighty stew, and you shall call it–Beef Stew.” Johnny’s eyes were wide, horror mirrored in his simple expression, “You mean I could have been eating cows this whole time!? I’ve been eating dirt!” Quoth the blob, “Yea, verily yea.”
Soon thereafter, Johnny tracked down another heifer. He chose a nice field, with dark, rich earth, and there he planted the cow. “Mooooo!” the cow protested. Johnny admonished the cow, “Quiet you! You are doing a great service to mankind. You shall spread your beefy goodness over all the earth.” Suddenly, the guiding voice of the soul of dirt came into Johnny’s mind, “No, no, no! You do not plant cows as you would plant a rutabaga. You must form a cattle ranch.” “Oh,” said Johnny.
Fame of Johnny’s marvelous cattle ranch soon spread across the land. In truth, the people were sick of eating dirt. It didn’t take much convincing for them to abandon the vain and foolish traditions of their fathers and to embrace beef stew. The true order of nature was restored, and they lived happily ever after.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Johnny cooly appraised a passing hen....
