If you wanna hand me a balogna sammich, be advised I'll strip the meat from the bread and let the Wonder lie where it falls. If it's PB&J, I'll crack it open and tongue out the PB and the J, but the unmerry messenger of bleachest-most bread is predestined to be shot dead to languish, expiring by the highchair wayside.

But this odd steak seems so steely and I'm crazily unclear as to why.

This big, beefen-bronzy heifer is so solid and steadfast in her milk-free ways. I've gobbled no less than twenty-and-tence my weight in cattlesque delectalights. Whether in ketchup, teriyaki or sauces of barbecue it's been no matter, this holy cow has been a greatest indulgence of mine. One I hesitate to forsake, even for iron, tin or tungsten considerations.

Is this a powerful purveyor of Hindi-esque message ala moo-style preservation the likes of which the Simpson's Apu himself would be hard-pressed to convey? I know not, but ponder weightily indeedy.

Perhaps it's a spiritual expression of bovinity the likes of which me and my omnivorous brethren have narient yet, to this very day, ever imagined to have dreamed of seeing. I can't say what this experience means, nor do I care to even imagine trying.

You know something -- which I imagine you do -- all this spiritual and philosophical talk is above me. Not just above me, but way, way above me. I can't ponder stuff of such heady absurdity... I'm a bit sorry to you, but not very.

Forget about steel. Forget about brass, bronze, copper and marble-esque stonery. Think instead of New York, baseball, center cut, brisket, and the most prime of prime rib. Think Au Jus. Think richest gravy. Think Brazilian tongue on a tong and get back to me if you must, though I can't imagine you will.

Steel cow or steal cow, but do as you must. You've got my vote in the event you should need it.

I may never understand the making of metal cattle, but I do know what I like. And oh dear friends, what I like is rich, Angus protein. How you like me now?*

There's m' bessie.