Brew & Que?

I like eating, and I ain't gonna lie: sometimes I think about the horrible deaths of animals. But the pangs of guilt fade to black when the notion of a hamburger flirts across my consciousness. Still, I try to eat vegetables and phoney meat substitutes much of the time. To be fair, though, I have shot and slaughtered and cooked and eaten just about every critter imaginable. What can I say? Killing is fun sometimes. But when I opened my good buddy Thomas' fridge the other night, looking for a budweiser from a purchased six pack, I was floored. A whole fucking cow's head was there staring at me. Now, I like Thomas, but this was my first time over to his crib and I just split. I wigged out and blazed. I hope he doesn't see this and think I'm a pussy, but good God, what could he have been thinking? Either he's in the Mafia, he's taking a tamale making course at the New School or just maybe he asked the wrong chick for head?