We Brave the Beef Jerky

We had some good school time this morning--every time Mom would leave, Steve and I would pass around the guitar and discuss some kind of musical theory, and when she'd come back Steve would say something like "Mom! Look at this! Florence has been playing the guitar this entire time! I just took it from her!" Loyalty at its finest.
Steve brings out this little green box that is vaguely familiar. Once upon a time (maybe 5 years ago), Steve, Dan and I all had these boxes stuffed full of random household items--survival boxes!!! Exciting things. We dove into Steve's and found some curious things, the only noteworthy ones being suspicious-looking chapstick growing mold, and this antediluvian package of beef jerky.


First of all, I'd just like to say that whoever came up with the word "Jerky" deserves to be called "Jerky" for the rest of eternity. It's a sick word, in more ways than one.
Second, has anyone ever actually had the "Western Roast" reffered to on the package as the flavor? What is this elusive roast?
"NO FAT"...never a good sign. None? At all? Sniff.
The words organic, soy, and protein are dangerous words if used in the same sentence, especially if in the same phrase and in rapid succession.

Most charming aspect of the beef jerky package:

Ahhhhh...who cares. Let's consume the stuff anyway.


Steve bites into the product, and the food connosiuers Dan and Steve discuss texture:
"It's not even chewy, it's just...mooshy."
And then taste:
"It tastes like algae."
And then smell:
(Steve) "Hey, wrap it around your nose and take a big whiff. Ahhhh!"


In the end, Steve was spitting out of the window, and I developed a taste for the delicacy.


I WON the battle of the beef jerky. And I'm proud of it, you bet.