Corned Beef And Cabbage

I grew up in an Irish household. The Irish hate Italians. One of the ways I was tortured was with corned beef and cabbage. The Irish in Boston eat a lot of this. They think it is "a wee bit o' heaven" come to earth. Corned beef is a form of steermeat on vein-clogging steroids wrapped in stroke and heartattack atoms. It is an early form of Spam, only more dangerous. This handgrenade of aorta hemmorhage is served with boiled cabbage. Cabbage has an element from the Periodic Table in it called "sulphur." Sulphur is the stuff from which matches are made that causes them to ignite and burn and the compound that was dumped onto Sodom to cause it to disappear into ash and dust and fire and the screaming deaths of the inhabitants. The most ferocious incident in the Bible after the Flood and that episode with The Angel of Death was the incineration of the cities of Sodom and Gemorrah. The fusion of Sodom and Gemmorah into solidified magma was made possible by the incendiary capabilities of sulphur. Cabbage has as it's essential mineral, sulphur. When you boil cabbage the sulpher is released in graduating amounts. The more you boil it the more sulphur is released into the house. Sulpher smells like a caustic vapor made of rancid saliva scraped from the roof of a dead cat's mouth. It actually smells dangerous. You run from the smell. Entering an Irish house is worse than entering into a house filled with Koreans and niggers and Jews at dinnertime, with each group cooking meals simultaneously. Entering an Irish house is like advancing past the Gates of Hell and into the living room of Satan cooking a pot of Auschwitz victims in skunk juice over the hearth at the same time shitting rivers of mudflow turds out of his ass and scooping handfuls up from behind his red glowing steaming butthole and smearing it all over his skin. And laughing. Because the Irish are always laughing about something, usually about how superior they are convinced they are to everyone else, while the smell of hellfire and brimstone fills their nostrils, your hair, and the neighborhood, and they revel and whoop and fall down drunk in their own slobber and piss, and reign supreme in their own alcohol-soaked and sodden minds over the Human Race in their vaulting and unsurpassed obliviousness and vaulting, charging, juggernauting, unstoppable, insatiable lusting after ignorance. I spent my whole life never eating corned beef and cabbage, instead running and hiding from it as if it were a form of Haitiian Voodoo Bloodsport. I am now an old man, frail, sad, and emaciated and doubled-over with rickets and scurvy and all manner of warts and boils and frogs hopping around on the floors. St. Patrick's Day is coming and Cecily decided to celebrate by cooking corned beef and cabbage. I have known Cecily for over 30 years. I learned, therefore, you never really know someone. But when you are 90 you learn to endure and to accept the new surprises that you learn. As the cabbage went into the pot I said my goodbyes to Cecily and told her that I would be dying soon, just as soon as the foul and stinking stench permeated the air, choked my lungs, closed my capillaries and ended my life in a black cloud of volcanic vapors from the death-dealing, infertile and hostile-to-life sod of Ireland. But it never did. The stench never came. The dinner of salted parboiled meat and greenish transparent lumps of snot called boiled cabbage was doled-out before me. I ate the slippery leaves of slime and squalor and looking up, noted aloud to my serene deathmate, "This shit has no actual taste!!" It also seemed weirdly nutricious. She said, "Oh, ok, sure, you see?...it's not so bad." I said, "How come the house never got to stinking like the Bridalveil Falls shitter?" She said that the less you boil the cabbage the less the sulphur is released. Delighted and surprised and very hungry I ate the tender boiled saltmeat and the oozy mucous leaves with greed and satisfaction. It turns out that when the sulpher is not released from the cabbage during the cooking process it is released inside your own body during the digestive process. You have no idea. Within 6 to 8 hours, and lasting for an entire rotation of the earth thereafter, your asshole opens wide, and effortlessly - so far - 344 times, at intervals of 3 to 5 minutes, expells from your own body and Glorious Temple of the Holy Spirit, farts of such brutal intensity, appalling ferocity and silent amperage and barometric energy that lamps fall over and crash from the inner surfaces of the shades catching the winds thus generated, and newspapers scut across the floors like debris in the park on a blustery Janurary in New York. Sodom and Gemmorah emerge from your ass and kill every insect and rodent in sight and cause children for blocks around to fuss and cry with a mysterious discomfort of their souls. No wonder the English spent so much time trying to make life miserable for the Irish: the winds blow directly off the Irish Isles directly onto Britain. It would be more than any civilized being could stand, putting up with the cabbage and salt beef foulness of a million gaping and exhaling Irish starfish, filthy brown ass holes spewing boiled cabbage fumes across the Irish Sea and onto the peaceful shores of Gentle Unintrusive England. Whatever the British did to the Irish in vengeance, it clearly was not enough, for the race still exists there, and the cabbage pots still steam and the drunken buttcheeks still spray their poisons across the waters onto England's long-suffering shores..