Thanksgiving is here! Are you excited? As an elite hunter (the body type) Thanksgiving is an exciting time but also an excellent opportunity to remind you about what some guy on Dr. Oz taught us almost three years ago, because for the last week it's been the steel code that I've lived my entire life by.
First off, everyone in the world is either a HUNTER or a FARMER. I'm talking about real hunters, real farmers. The real deal guys, as in THE BODY TYPES, not the shooting and earth-tilling types. Just as a refresher, Dr. Oz says hunters (the body type) can eat tons of meat but bread is like kryptonite, so we can't eat sandwiches, or pizza or bagels or grilled cheese or noodles or any of the other things that made America great because we're supposed to be out hunting with wolves like our Native American forefathers.
You're probably thinking "wait, hunter? Don't you mean paleo or gluten free?" No, those are ugly terms created by the "big wheat" lobbyists to make us sound like we're on a fad diet. Hunters don't go on diets, Hunters stalk down their dietary preferences and wrestle them to the ground to rip out their jugular while the fad diets watch from a minivan pissing in their madras shorts from 100 yards back. We're HUNTERS! (the body type).
But wait, how do I know if I'm a hunter or a farmer? Well it's easy:
If you weighed less than 7 pounds when you were born then CONGRATULATIONS you're part of an elite supermodel race of biological leopard humans akin to the Thundercats. You're a Hunter (the body type), welcome aboard. You can eat all the meat you want but YOU CAN NEVER EAT BREAD. If you are a hunter and you eat even a tiny bit of bread it explodes inside of you and you swell up like a gross fat overripe tomato and no one loves you and then you die.
If you weighed more than 7 pounds when you were born then gross you're a FARMER, and you can eat all the bread you want and I hate you and you're a monster and you can stop reading.
No wait! Don't leave! We're hunters, we're an understanding people, and we need you to raise our children when we're out on the hunt. Sometimes we're gone for months and we could be mowed down by a bear at any moment or by a loaf of bread because it makes us fat and gross.
As hunters we're both strong and vulnerable (think Batman) and so we live and die by a strict set of rules, like the Samurai. Now with Thanksgiving fast approaching it's time everyone knew these rules so that we may share our tables as brothers and sisters of the feast.
Rule #1: Welcoming Hunters to your table? Decider on CIDER...Also Wine...
As hunters (the body type), we work up a powerful thirst out on the prowl. But beer is wheat and it makes our tum tum fat and stupid looking and then it drags on the ground when we drop down to all fours for the chase. So we stick to cider and wine and Campari too because we're thirty now and it tastes really good and we're comfortable enough with ourselves to just order what we like, which is Campari. Hunters order what they like (Campari) and then they rip it apart and the juices drip down into their beards and ponytails like blood from a fresh kill, like a Campari drinking Khal Drogo.
Rule #2 Keep your wits about you, "Big Wheat" has its talons in everything
The ivory tower "Big Wheat" lobby embeds their fat doughy fingers into many a restaurant dish and american politician* unbeknownst to most. Although hunters are wary and steer clear of this wolf in deep fried breading clothing as much as possible, try to stay on our side. Never serve a hunter (the body type) gravy thickened with flour or meatballs with breadcrumbs. Our hatred of breadcrumbs runs so deep that we almost hate Hansel and Gretel. If those dumb little schmucks would have dropped some Turkey Jerky behind them as they walked instead of bread, any hunter with half a mind would have sniffed it out, tracked them down and killed that witch in no time, end of story.
Rule #2.5 Big Wheat's got everybody in their pocket
Let's try something for fun, think of your favorite actor or comedian or musician in hollywood right now. It could be literally anyone. Let's all do it at once: 1, 2, 3, go...Got who you're thinking of? Good me too! Let's say our answer together: CHANNING TATUM! Boom. great, we had the same one, cool. Now Google Channing Tatum Eating Pizza With A Cat. See that?
That right there is the power of "Big Wheat."
This goes all the way to the top. Name any of the last five major political assassinations and any hunter (the body type) can name you the bread that pulled the trigger. Lee Harvey Oswald is actually just a loaf of Ciabatta, Ghandi went on hunger strike to escape but was eventually murdered by a piece of warm naan. Also Cosby? We (Hunters, the body type) called that, ever since we saw him eating all those hoagies before bed and then having dreams with muppets we didn't trust him for a second. Just sayin'.
Rule #3 Just let us live our lives, yes we're heroes but we're also so much more than that
The last thing Hunters (the body type) want is a big scandal where all the attention is on them and their samurai eating code of sacrifice and all the family does the whole weekend is talk about what a hero we are. Yes, we've been through a lot. No, we don't have a problem sharing our story. Yes, we want more Campari.
Rule #4 Hunters need sweets and a constitutional walk after Thanksgiving Dinner
That guy from Dr. Oz wrote in his book (I didn't read it, hunters don't read) that Hunters (the body type) often need to do exercise after dinner. One can assume this is because our proud ancestors walked home from devouring an elk and then made furious love to their mate near the moonlit opening of their cave. A modern version of this would be when I make furious love to my mate near the entrance of my cave. Afterwards we usually have chocolate and port because hunters like something a lil sweet before bed. So maybe engage in group sex after thanksgiving dinner if you have a few hunters at your table. Then afterwards have pie.
Rule #5 When in doubt for what to give us, just give us bacon or ribs
Bacon is like Popeye's spinach for hunters. Get a buncha bacon down in our tum tums and next thing you know we're all warm and fuzzy and we start sweating and our hunter mate will say "are you ok" and we'll say "oh yeah" because we know that all that warmth and shortness of breath is just our motor revving up to explode into action at the drop of a pin. For longer hauls we'll eat a rack of ribs to power up and feel like god incarnate.
Also we hate Wil Wheaton and stuffing seems like a weird form of taxidermy when you offer it to us because it'll kill us! Good Luck Farmers! Where's that Campari?