Congratulations Brisket Thief!

Your mom cooked all the brisket in the house, did it up nice with a nice rub and roasted it on a barbecue in the backyard, but you know what? Doesn’t fucking matter.

It doesn’t fucking matter because you stole it, you fucking prick. You stole every last bite. Now your family is crying while you lay in your room on your belly, head on your pillow, brisket under your pillow. It will make your room reek of meat, but the whole house will reek of meat because of your mom’s cooking. No one will accuse you of any wrongdoing, which will make it that much worse.

You got it into your head that you’d be staging an act of protest against factory farming by making your whole family miserable, but it turns out you just kind of hurt a bunch of people close to you by attempting to impose your values on them.

You’ll try to fix the whole situation tomorrow when you leave the brisket outdoors for someone to find, but in the end it won’t work out so well. Before anyone wakes up to discover your brisket package, a wild animal of some kind will happen upon it and tear it to ribbons. It’ll upset your mother tremendously, but at least it’ll take the heat off you.

Congratulations Brisket Thief!