Ok, so I told a story about my grandpa hanging BACON on an ELECTRIFIED WIRE in Closet Metro’s comments section. But you have to understand that I grew up on a farm/ranch with a veterinarian father.
I once took pickled baby kittens for show & tell in the second grade. My dad spayed a cat that was pregnant (he didn’t know) and put the kittens in a baby food jar for me to show my friends. Later, in high school, this same project (with preserved horse nuts) prevented me from having a date for 2 ½ years. My mom even had t-shirts made about it for my sister & me…. “Hey guys, My dad is a vet & he castrates STUDS.” Something like that.
My dad often compares food products to animal diseases and by-products. Red jello salad, for example, looks like biopsied dead cow lungs. And sour cream is frighteningly similar to a cancer-eye abscess.
When my sister was 12 she did a very accurate explanation of a cow’s circulatory system using a dead cow, 2 sticks & a piece of garden hose. All went well until she got into a tug-o-war with the dog over the stomach.
I was the only person who could eat a roast beef sandwich DURING cadaver lab. (Cadavers remind me of dried apples.)
We used to walk barefoot to the horse barn.
My brother called placenta “plazooka” and it is a common joke at our house to respond to the question of “What’s for dinner” with “plazooka sandwiches.” (Imagine my horror when I found out some people do, indeed, eat the placenta of their offspring… stir-fried, with a hint of garlic.)