Trading Spouses: Vegans v. Cajuns
The vegan diet is obviously lacking whatever essential nutrient it is that makes people likeable. I’ve met and smelled members of Vegan Nation all across this land, from those who won’t eat lobster in Maine to those who won’t eat Mexicans in California. Few of these mutants seemed healthy, and down to the last platelet of meat-free blood, every one of them was a sanctimonious, judgmental, bourgeois whitebread Ass Face with more burbling hostility and barely concealed animal rage than any dozen drunken deer hunters.
The TV show Trading Spouses recently swapped wives between a Louisiana Cajun family and a California Vegan family—meat-eaters on one side, meat-is-murder types on the other.
The Cajun Family lived somewhere in or around the bayou swamplands of Thibodeaux, Louisiana. The town was immortalized in Jerry Reed’s song “Amos Moses,” where Amos gets half an arm bitten off by a gator while feeding the local sheriff to gators with his other arm. The Cajun Family eat gator meat, keep live gators, run alligator-themed boat tours, and proudly display an easy thousand or more preserved alligator heads in their backyard. I guess what I’m trying to say is that they live in Gator Country. The Cajun Dad looked like James Hetfield if he’d been hit in the head with a rock as a baby. Or, more precisely, if Cajun Dad ever impregnated an alligator, the baby would look like Duane “Dog” Chapman. Cajun Mom was a plump, dark-haired voodoo queen who seemed hardy enough to put gators into sleeper holds. Nine-year-old Cajun Boy sported a blond rat-tail mullet but was quick-witted. All of their accents were so thick, I could only understand every third word.
The Vegan Family hailed from San Diego, California, a gentle sunny rolling wafer of metropolitan blandness bathed in muted colors of Sea Foam and Mild Peach. Vegan Mom sported tight curls and tight teeth and tight, pulled-back skin and was wound tighter than a fucking Slinky. I’d assume she has harsh little organic-raisin nipples and a scraggly gerbil pussy that smells like rotted bean sprouts. Vegan Dad looked like a surfboard, and the two Vegan Boys were generic straight-toothed chipmunks unobjectionable and unremarkable in any way.
Upon reaching Gator Country, Vegan Mom says something about how Louisiana is “very, very far behind California” in all known measures of cultural advancement. Apparently, basic manners are not one of these things. When she sees all the alligator heads in the backyard, she calls it “an alligator Holocaust.” She never stops flapping her thin lips about the health risks and animal cruelty of the Cajun diet, telling Cajun Boy he’ll be dead by the time he’s 40 if he keeps eating like that. When a dozen or so Cajun neighbors come over for dinner, she walks around curtly handing them Garden Burgers, which they ogle suspiciously as if they’re hand grenades.
Out on the Cajun porch, one of the locals tries to explain, “See, ma’am, we live in the swamps, and if’n we don’t kill us some o’ dem gators, they’d kill us.” She shakes her head as if the nice animals would never think to kill humans and then leads the Cajuns single-file back into the house, forcing them to watch a video that spares no gory detail and employs zero subtlety in hammering your skull with the idea that IT’S FUCKING EVIL TO EAT MEAT. She cries repeatedly during the video as the Cajuns slowly peel out of the room one-by-one.
Later on, she slips and says she’d eat a dog if her family’s life depended on it. Cajun Boy says he’d never eat a dog “because a gator’s a gator, but dogs are man’s best friend.” And then Vegan Mom, that fucking animal-lover, is shown forcibly grabbing Cajun Family Dog’s nose and rubbing it in pee-pee while she delivers a sharp slap to its ass. She finally caves in and takes a bite of some fried alligator, which REALLY pisses off her family once they find out, seeing as she’d been funnel-feeding them green-grass drinks their whole lives.
Throughout the episode, Cajun Boy and Dad are shown staring stoically as Vegan Mom pulls one rude stunt after another. At one point, after she argues with Cajun Boy that the plural of “monkey” is “monkies,” the kid finally breaks down and cries. But the Cajuns remain as polite as the Vegans are obnoxious.
Out in Cali, Cajun Mom shows similar restraint and dignity as she deals with the harsh judgments of Vegan Family and their Vegan Robot Friends, who REALLY aren’t down with her gift of alligator heads. She spends half a day trying to appease them by cooking some Vegan Gumbo and is STILL endlessly berated. They take her snorkeling in order to show her the pretty fish and maybe convince her to NEVER EAT ANY KIND OF MEAT AGAIN, but instead she says that looking at the fish made her hungry.
Score this one for the meat-eaters. I’ve never seen a more convincing testament to the fact that those who holler the loudest about being compassionate are the rudest and most inconsiderate beings in the galaxy. The gator-killers were steadfastly decent to that tofu-eating cunt even as she systematically dissed their culture. They should have used her for gator bait, but the gators probably wouldn’t have liked the taste.