So, What exactly is beef?


What?

Beef is what you get when you travel to a place with cows, identify one, stalk and kill it. If you’re one of those city types who aren’t really involved in the production or attainment of their food; those ones who buy meat from the freezers of nakumatt, then you don’t get to call your meat beef.

Beef is hatred that you may feel for a friend (in this case, temporary), an enemy (permanent), a kaloli up in a tree. If say, this kaloli has shat on you, you’re justified in hating it. But if you just hate it for existing, then you’re an animal hating psychopath and you’re going to hell.

Beef is also what a certain boy named Roger used to call girl’s butts in my senior three. But he was weird and way taller than everybody else, so we might all have looked like cattle to him. Who knows?

When?

You can have beef for a workmate who swankulas as he chews his popcorn or for an acquaintance who bitches too much.

You can have beef for your parent when they hide the remote control and try to convince you, an old person, that all the channels on Star Times apart from NTV have stopped working.

You are also allowed to beef boutique owners who sell clothes expensively, because are we supposed to walk around naked? Unfashionable? Just because we can’t afford their cute things?  Shya.

Where:

This emotion of hatefulness is very flexible. You can play with it in church (although the pastor’s sermon might water it down). You can let it fondle your mind when you’re in the boardroom, because, come on. How important is the HR’s rant on the proper use of toilet paper? You can direct beef at the HR chick as well, like: What’s wrong with making butterfly wings out of toilet paper? The toilet needed redecoration anyway.

Who?

N/A. Beef cannot be a person unless you’re Roger, and then beef is every girl with a vast behind.

How?

Hmm. When God created animals, cattle were among them. The first breed of cattle were monstrously large, up to double their current size. They were big and ugly and all had udders, even the boy ones. A la Otis from Banyard.

laba

So Adam said, “Really? Really God?  You expect me to milk that thing?” And God said, “Beera mu class. Don’t you remember what I said about you being the caretaker, overlord and king of all these creatures? Just visit the design studio next Tuesday at 3.30pm and redesign the cowethe!”

So Adam levitated to heaven but had a hard time finding the studio because all the signposts were written in whimsical fonts. When he finally got to the creation table and switched on the computer and found the folder named cowethe, and opened InDesign; he was exhausted.

You people, don’t insist on doing work when you’re tired because I’m pretty sure he’s the one who created mean chicks, commonly referred to as heifers.

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