40 tons
And whaddya get?
Remember: if you see someone stealing food, no you didn’t.
Chaotic Good: Donate it to food pantries and soup kitchens.
Chaotic evil: Dump it on the steps of the capitol building and build a giant ground beef Mitch McTurtle.
I bet it was Arby’s, they always claim to have “the meats”.
What on earth could someone do with 80,000 lbs of beef? You can’t exactly move that kind of volume on the black market. Storing that amount of beef alone would take a massive amount of space and cooling.
It would take precisely two refrigerated semi truck trailers.
Fresh beef could be easily, easily sold, not even on the black market.
Print a fake bill of lading for delivery to any random grocery warehouse, write on the bill that it was rejected for some irregularity that has nothing to do with product quality (shipped wrong item, order was canceled but shipped anyway, anything really), and call up random food distributors until you find a buyer.
If I ever need to unload 40 tons of illicitly-obtained meat, I’ll be going to you, Mr. Semi.
Username checks out.
Also, they may have actually already had a buyer ready… could have even been an inside job…
“I’m gonna give you a rule of thumb. You foller it and you just might hold on to this ranch of yours. All large-scale crime is an inside job. Takin’ fingerprints and sendin’ trash off to the lab just don’t ger her done. If you’re dealin’ with people, you gotta be human.” Slim Pickins as Henry Beige in Rancho Deluxe
Burn it.
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Someone had some beef with Tennessee
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Eggs.
Eggs.
Eggs.
If I keep posting this every time there are egg related political news stories, maybe it’ll come true?
I put together a little short story about how I would like to see Donald Trump meet his demise. Drowning in eggs:
The Eggsecution.
The once-proud leader, now stripped of title and dignity, stands in the center of the barren, concrete abyss. The abandoned Olympic swimming pool—thirty feet deep, dry as bone—has become their final stage. Above, the gathered masses stretch in every direction, a writhing sea of anticipation.
They do not jeer. They do not boo.
They simply chant.
“Eggs. Eggs. Eggs.”
It starts as a murmur, a low thrum of human voices vibrating in unison. Then it grows, swelling into a deafening roar that rattles windows, that shudders in the bones of every person present. A chant as ancient as it is absurd, a single-minded invocation of punishment.
The first egg arcs high overhead, tracing a lazy curve before splattering against the fallen leader’s shoulder. The yolk bursts, oozing down his baggy, ugly, now-useless suit. A streak of yellow, the first of many.
Another egg. Then another.
Then dozens.
The first impacts make them flinch, stagger—hands raised in a futile shield. But soon there are too many to dodge, too many to deflect. They curl inward as the sky rains viscous judgment. The chant never stops.
“Eggs. Eggs. Eggs.”
Shells crack. Yolk drips. The scent of sulfur and shame thickens in the stagnant air. It coats their skin, their hair, their pride, turning them into something less than human. Something… egg-like.
At the top of the pit, a child—no older than seven—steps forward. They hold their egg with both hands, cradling it like something precious. Reverent. With a deliberate motion, they lob it downward. It strikes the leader square on the forehead, exploding with an almost musical plap. The crowd erupts into a fresh crescendo of cheers, but the chant never falters.
“Eggs. Eggs. Eggs.”
No escape. No reprieve. The pit is smooth concrete, slick now with raw egg and humiliation. They can do nothing but stand there, endure, become part of the ritual.
Somewhere in the throng, a vendor hawks boiled eggs. Another sells cartons to the unprepared. A man in a chicken suit waves encouragingly at the crowd.
The night wears on, but the spectacle does not end.
It cannot end.
Not until the last egg is thrown. Not until the last voice is hoarse.
Not until the world is rid of this one, failed leader, broken not by swords or exile, but by the inescapable weight of public yolk and scorn.
“Eggs. Eggs. Eggs.”
In other News:: the Knoxville FD is having a spaghetti dinner fund raising…
Hey these guys we’ve never heard of are cheap, let’s hire them to transport stuff for us.
I saw some video about this kind of stuff. I want to say it was John Oliver.
Anyway, these shipping companies basically hop on this Craigslist circa 2002 looking website and hire truckers off it. So, they likely did just get the cheapest guy.
For some reason I just got a flashback to that football kid who tried to steal crab legs by putting them down his pants. I’m just imagining these thieves walking out with 40 tons of beef overflowing from their pants.
