Raccoon meat: I am shocked, appalled and absolutely disgusted at the fact that Temple City’s local Metro Supermarket would have the audacity—the nerve—to pull their best item off the shelves!
Now, I know what the skeptics must be saying: why in the world would anyone want to eat raccoon? Believe me, I was once a non-believer as well. But one day, in the frozen meats section of Metro Supermarket, my life changed forever.
As I scanned across the rows of fish, chicken, pork and beef, I made eye contact with the bagged coon in all of its furry, bloody glory. It looked as if it was baring its fangs at me, and I, acting upon some primal instinct within me, accepted the creature’s challenge: eat me.
Now, I must admit, things did get a little hairy when I got home. I found myself coughing up bits of hair, and my first few attempts at preparing this delicacy resulted in vomiting, but challenge is part of the fun! And there’s just something about that wild, feral taste of coon meat that adds a whole new meaning to the term “street food.”
Some may be wondering how Metro Supermarket has managed to make a profit selling raccoon for all these years. What they don’t realize is that I empty the store’s shelves every week to satisfy my ever growing coon desires. It’s become an addiction. Since my first purchase, I’ve learned countless recipes for cooking raccoon, and I’ve even delved into taxidermy. While my friends and family have distanced themselves from me, my preserved coon collection has only grown.
How do I justify the expensive cost of $10 per pound, considering the ungodly amounts of coon I buy every week? To be completely honest, my coon diet was the best economic decision of my life. At first, I didn’t know what to do with all the fur I had left after skinning the animal, but then I asked myself: why am I still wasting money on clothes and fabrics? Coon slippers, coon blankets, coon drapes and even coon underwear—which is surprisingly comfortable, yet firm. You name it: there’s nothing I can’t make out of coon!
I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this. After the Twinkie bankruptcy of 2013, I’d begun to stockpile on my coon. But these furry treats just don’t have the staying power that those nuclear sponges do. What I don’t understand is why health inspectors allow Twinkies and Slim Jims—literally a packaged strip of pure grease—to stay in the markets while they take away my source of food, warmth and happiness.
Face it America, raccoon isn’t the worst thing you’ve sold. I’m calling for some equality here: coon equality! I’m petitioning Metro Supermarket to bring back the coons, and if my testimony didn’t change your mind, come by for a taste of my coon salad or ringtail coon loops. Coon is love. Coon is life.