My father-in-law gave us some pork ribs and my wife cooked them the other night. They were very good because my wife is a Kitchen Ninja (we tend to stick to our own kind, you see.)
So a day later I was looking for something to take to work for lunch and I see that there is some ribs left. I rejoice at my discovery and quickly pack it up. I didn’t take any utensils because hey, you just don’t eat ribs with a fork and spoon. Did I mention that these ribs were swimming in barbecue sauce, topped off with more barbecue sauce? Can you see where this is going?
Fast forward to lunch time at work. I heat the ribs up in the microwave, take the paper towel off the top of the container and look at them. This is when I realize that I hadn’t thought far enough ahead.
Now, some of you are thinking, “What’s the big deal, Ninja? Just pick ‘em up and eat ‘em.” And still more of you are thinking about Jessica Simpson’s ta-ta’s. Well if I can’t touch them neither can you so let’s just follow along with the rest of the class, ok?
You need to understand that because of where I work I don’t really get a lunch break. I pretty much have to race off if someone decides they need to bother me for any reason, so me running around trying to take care of business with barbecue sauced hands, while amusing, would also probably be a bad career move. Much like showing up to work naked and telling people that I had just started taking a liking to clear clothing.
Before I go any farther, let’s talk about the origins of man, or rather the basic animal instincts that exist within us all. Come on it’ll be fun…and I promise it’ll almost be relevant.
When man suddenly decided that he didn’t want to be a monkey anymore and stood up straight and began figuring out how to make beer, there were certain animal-like urges and needs that didn’t go away like the poo-flinging did. (This is why Ninja Monkeys have been terrorizing whole cities for decades. Imagine combining the power of the Ninja with a poo-flinging primate. It’s just too terrifying to discuss any further. Or at least for now.)
So anyway, Man evolved beyond poo-flinging (some of us anyway…I’m looking at YOU Rosie O’Donnell) and went to beer. Now despite the beer, Man still wanted and needed to have an occasional roll in the hay, something Important to do (no more poo-flinging remember) and the very thing I’m trying to get to now: Food. Man must satisfy the hunger because beer only makes you forget about it. And when Man is hungry, there is a certain feeling or emotion that turns off the non-poo-flinging, evolved part of our brain (except for Rosie, of course, notice how fat she is?) and animal instinct takes over, usually in the form of some sort of pre-historic grunt occasioned by intermittent flatulence. (Hmm…more allusions to Rosie. I might be on to something here.)
Such was the case when I stood there deciding how to proceed. Some sort of prehistoric switch was flipped and I no longer cared how I was going to eat the ribs. And I think the fact that I was going to be eating meat somehow compounded the evolutionary backslide that took place in my brain. I would eat those friggin’ ribs and neatness and tact be damned!
Before my brain could start trying to figure out how to make beer (which is odd because I don’t drink) I sat down and just grabbed the ribs with my hands and began to satisfy my inner monkey. (Now there’s a loaded phrase.)
I soon found myself making small grunting noises as I tried to get every little bit of meat off of the bone. My hands were covered in sauce and I think I had some smeared on my face as well, but I didn’t care. I looked forward to each bone that still had meat on it and derived some sort of perverse pleasure in thoroughly cleaning it off.
In the midst of my rib revelry, people were passing by the break room. Some slowed down to witness the carnage and I think at one point I even growled at someone. Had I been there much longer I’m sure I probably would have jumped up onto the table and jumped up and down on all fours while making high pitched screeching noises and flung discarded bones at the onlookers. I’m not sure what it would have taken to reach the poo-flinging stage, and I’m not sure I want to know. Although I guess if I wanted to find out I could ask Rosie O’Donnell. (Zing!)
At some point, thank goodness, I regained control and was able to reverse whatever switch had been thrown. I cleaned myself up and put the chairs right side up and even threw away the bones, though I felt somewhat guilty, like I was cleaning up a crime scene before the cops arrived.
As I walked out of the break room I reflected upon my experience. I had been transported, nay, transformed into the dark center that exists within us all. And, much like country music, no matter how hard we try to ignore it, or deny its existence, it is there, waiting, lurking, and sometimes just itching to claw its way through our social barriers and present itself, open and disgustingly naked, to those unfortunate enough to witness it.
And what this all comes down to is this:
Ladies! When you take your man out to eat, be cautious and wary should he choose ribs. For therein lies the key to the door that is triple locked in men’s subconscious: The door that just barely holds back the inner beast....
...and Rosie O’Donnell.
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