By Nikki Hollis
MY NAME’S Nikki and I’m a flexitarian. ‘What’s that?’ I hear you cry, already overwhelmed by how fascinating I am.
Well, it’s some made-up bullshit that allows me to eat loads of succulent animal flesh whilst still claiming the moral high ground.
By chucking around phrases like ‘fluid approach to eating’ and ‘sustainable lifestyle’ I can bamboozle people into thinking that I’m pretty much Buddha, but hotter and more deep, while holding a burger.
Being a flexitarian allows me to say I eat a ‘plant-based’ diet, which sounds like I’m a vegetarian when actually the plants I eat are usually lying limply by the side of a massive oozing steak or squashed under a fat slice of yummy, greasy bacon.
It also enables me to give long, sanctimonious lectures to carnivores about how they’re killing the planet by eating so much meat and still get a KFC bucket on my way home.
It has been pointed out to me that the term ‘flexitarian’ is meaningless. But it’s a science name, like ‘wellness’, ‘yogic’ or ‘trans-dimensional sexual energy vortex’. Einstein probably described himself as a flexitarian.
Flexitarianism has boosted my health even more than when I gave up drugs apart from doing coke every other weekend. It turns out you can have your double bacon cheeseburger and eat it! But also not eat it because it’s bad. Or something.
