I Feel The Meat! Addicted to Your Feet 🤤

By: Ces Lodovico

Imagine this: it’s a Friday night. You’re me. You’ve already had an Opium War – a drink of my own creation consisting of vodka and OPM (Trader Joe’s Orange Peach Mango juice). You just got back from walking your partner home to their Warren Towers abode because we watched a scary movie and you’re immune to the horrors. You reenter your South Campus apartment to Troye Sivan’s “One Of Your Girls” music video on loop in the TV room and are greeted with a question that sounds like honey cascading down your auditory canal: “Drunk cig tonight, queen?”

Undoubtedly, yes. Drunk cig tonight, queen.

You grab a spiked Arizona peach tea on the way out, despite the fact that you’ve been warned that it has a meaty aftertaste. With Troye on your minds, you and your compatriots are galavanting down side streets and alleyways until you end up on the Fenway bike path. 

Now at first sip, the spiked Arizona tastes delectable – like your favorite candy from childhood, the peachy ring. But after a couple more sips, it hits you. The meat. And fuck, is the meat taste awful. The meat in combination with the cig feeling in your mouth is enough to make a grown man cry. And how do men cope? Humor. Or punching walls, but I’m going with humor this time. Fuck the estrogen in my body. Call my ass Pinnochio, ‘cause it’s time to be a real boy. Immediately, I start crafting a callback joke that will really knock some socks off. 

I tend to excel in creating my own personal “remixes” of songs in which I obscure the lyrics beyond recognition. Following previous events, tonight's victim will be Troye Sivan’s “Rush,” since “One of Your Girls” is too sacred to taint in such a vile manner. There’s an ongoing bit that one of my drunken cig companions has a foot fetish, and when I look at her blissfully puffing away, I know exactly what this crowd needs. 

I feel the meat!

Addicted to your feet!

It flows out of my mouth easier than the goddamn ABC’s. There is a moment of silence before an eruption of laughter that only fuels my already inflated ego. This is followed by a multitude of riffs on that bit before we start getting concernedly introspective.