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General What is the hardest part of being a vegan?

The hardest part about being a Vegan is be taunted by both Vilani and Solomani that they are a minor race, and cannot survive well on a reasonable planet like Earth.

Now, if you vegan as in diet, remember that diet is "Die with a T". Besides, then you cannot enjoy bacon or prime rib or veal parmesan, or for me, I could not enjoy haggis or steak and kidney pie and good Italian sausage, or Johnson Brats.
Not sure about the aliens, but if it's a dietary thing the hard part is nutrition and caloric intake. Nowhere near impossible of course, but it's much easier to do as an omnivore.
 
The hardest part about being a Vegan is be taunted by both Vilani and Solomani that they are a minor race, and cannot survive well on a reasonable planet like Earth.

Now, if you vegan as in diet, remember that diet is "Die with a T". Besides, then you cannot enjoy bacon or prime rib or veal parmesan, or for me, I could not enjoy haggis or steak and kidney pie and good Italian sausage, or Johnson Brats.
Wait until pigs get lawyers.
 
I may have posted this elsewhere, but as we are talking about haggis, and Bobbie Burns night was on January 25th, (my bad for not remembering that), it seems to be appropriate to post his "Address to a Haggis."

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill;
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need;
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" hums.

Is there that o'er his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi' perfect scunner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed -
The trembling earth resounds his tread!
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
 
I may have posted this elsewhere, but as we are talking about haggis, and Bobbie Burns night was on January 25th, (my bad for not remembering that), it seems to be appropriate to post his "Address to a Haggis."

I teach a Bible Study on Thursday nights, so I was unfortunately unable to attend a Burns Dinner this year at one of my favorite British Taverns.
 
Smells like bacon.


Kibbles-n-Bits-Bacon-Steak-Flavor-Dry-Dog-Food-17-6-Pound-Bag_bd38cf9e-a86d-439d-8b25-61365f06f8f0.131fed1083f5d8099dcd473317de6f93.jpeg
 
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