Non Sequitur II: The Secret of the Ooze

I met a racist vegetarian today, a representative of a strange subculture of which I was unaware prior to this afternoon. To me, this chance encounter is on par with meeting a Mexican wolf boy in the produce section of Whole Foods or engaging in conversation with one of those long-necked giraffe women at an Applebee’s bar. You just don’t meet people like this everyday. Upon confirmation of her moral opposition to the industrial slaughter of animals for our carnivorous appetites, I inquired as to how someone can believe chickens engineered on farms for the sole purpose of human consumption are more important than black people. The answer I received involved growing up in a mixed neighborhood and being scared to walk down the street at night (Note: This young woman resembles a Wiccan Small Wonder and I expressed my disbelief in her hard-knock upbringing with contorted facial expressions). I’ve been bit by dogs, scratched by cats, and defecated upon by birds and flying creatures of the like, but I don’t hold it against their entire species. I’m not damning all canines because I stepped in dog shit six years ago. Her response: “Well, I don’t condone eating black people sandwiches and wearing coats made of Mexicans either.” I took my Shark Week: 20th Anniversary DVD to the register and paid the cashier.