Saddest Valentine's ever

I ate SPAM for supper last night.

We grew up in a small town that was about a block and a half from school, so we used to come home for lunch. The daily menu varied from soup and sandwich, macaroni and hot dogs, hamburgers, subs, Schwans mini pizzas, etc... On the odd occasion we would have fried SPAM sandwiches.

It wasn't until later in life that I realized that SPAM was the: other other red meat. It was usually the butt of a welfare joke or two. But my rather bulbous physique quite enjoyed the canned fatty block of goo sliced and pan fried, on homemade bread with mustard and mayo.

On Valentine's Day I tried to re-kindle a little romance with this, culinary delight. I had never actually made this before.

I opened the can using this peculiar sort of key that rips the tin open exposing the pink block of meat within, along with the familiar scent not unlike that of a can of dogfood. I shook the container until the block settled on my plate. When I examined the inside of the can I noticed that the thick white fatty remains had separated themselves from the meat. Not so fatty after all, right?

I proceeded to slice and fry the SPAM until nice and crispy. And there swimming in a pool of its own rendered fat two sliced of browned Sandwich meat sat ready to be eaten. I placed the slices on bread with mustard and mayo, just the way I remembered enjoying in throughout my school years.

What I did not remember was the speed with which the gelatinous substance was rejected from my stomach and returned through the orifice through which it came. It was not pretty.

Sick as a dog running for the bathroom, trying to keep my new puppy from witnessing the ordeal, I barfed. I barfed long and hard and somewhere on **** Avenue, a child cried.

I felt like three sacks of smashed arseholes. I layed there on the floor groaning for a few moments, then mustered up the strength to get a glass of water. Relief.

I proceeded to remove the goo from my home. The smell was heavy in the air and I wore my shirt over my face to filter the odor. Eventually I lit a few of the wife's smelly candles to get rid of the smell.

Later that evening I sat there on my couch with the taste of vomit in my mouth and the smell of fried spam and cinnamon heavy in the air. I did not eat anymore last night. I did however take my dog for a 1 hour tour of the neighborhood. He hasn't "been right" since valentine's day.