Dog Meat


Article_Title Line Break_418pxBOON Magazine: Cabin Fever: Dog Meat
Words: Dominic Knight | Illustration: Tabitha Knight

Article_Title Line Break_418px

Summer is once again over. We fold back into the darkness and drink heavily in dimly lit pubs, praying for warmth, sunshine and happiness, everyone knows that, but…where do the meat heads go? Those ripped gym encrusted hunks of flesh that appear as soon as the weather is warm enough to bare their ridiculously proportioned torsos. Those thunderous hulks of muscle sailing down the street like graceless frigates. Those weevil minded buffoons that bray at passing girls dressed like pornographic cakes.

Careful observation is paramount in documenting this most unnatural of migrations, as common as geese flying south for the winter. Do they leave for sunnier pastures, to strut around bulging out of tiny vests and low cut tops? Or do they hibernate, storing enough energy to be able to lift themselves around for the summer months?

It is rude to make assumptions of these people, but there is a reason why generalisation exists, which is to understand the things we see that happen in patterns and give them meaning of some sorts. Generalising is a safety mechanism saying, ‘stay away from the big brutish idiot because they don’t have enough brains to control their hoof like fists properly.’ Probably slightly unfair, but they have carte blanche to do the same.

The gym, a pointless self absorbed mecca filled with mirrors and “beautiful” people polishing off their finely tuned muscles and pearly white teeth, a master race, fit enough to run through entire mountains without breaking a sweat. In those walls, only true perfection will save your soul, but the only true dedication is in filling your sack of skin with muscle that looks better on a wild animal designed for hunting and killing without emotion than a ‘gorgeous beach hunk’.

Punch them in the arm, you’d be surprised how easy they go down.

Nudity is more than fine, but you have to be ill in the head to find anything attractive in a human brick shit house walking down the street, arms spread like featherless steroid pumped turkey wings and a neck that is thicker than your entire body. An adequately sized t-shirt is more than appropriate, but no one is impressed by your angular arms and arse shaped chest if you wear something that fits, so the Americans, ever the purveyors of human breakthroughs, invented the concept of wearing very thin and very very tight vests and t-shirts that show off every crease in your deformed body. It gives complete definition from every angle. You too can become part of muscle beach and swan around picking up all the chicks. Meat heads are notorious for swanning around gracefully, the generalisation that they act like gorillas on a daily basis is offensive to the ape species all across the world.

The logic for wanting to look like this is beyond me. Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to ask for an in depth personal interview with one of these beef cakes, but that day seems like a long way off.


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