I Draw the Line at Clicking on the Wooly Mammoth Meatball

Okay, I lied, I clicked. But only after my wife looked over my shoulder and said, “you’ve simply got to look at that.”

“Nope,” said I, with a condescending smirk. “I know click-bait when I see it and I’m not interested.”

So here I am, she’s left the room and I’m reading all about the damn meatball because I see no end to this kind of drivel being promoted on social media, let alone publicized on The Guardian, a once renowned and reliable source of news. Who on earth would find a scrap of Wooly Mammoth DNA and find it either worthy or interesting to carry out the cloning, much less to create a meatball?

I have to know

Well, therein is the trap, the question that must be answered, lest one go to bed and stare endlessly at the ceiling, unable to let the unanswered question remain unanswered. Damned if there wasn’t an accompanying picture of a meatball. Not only that, but a cooked meatball. Was that the actual meatball or a stand-in, something conjured up by Jamie Oliver on an off night?

Did anyone actually taste the meatball? Was it closest in taste to chicken, rattlesnake, pork, beef or tuna? Were condiments applied? Was it rare, medium or well done?

Who could possibly get all that out of their head?

It’s the sight that cannot be unseen, like catching grandma coming naked out of the shower as you walk in the bathroom to brush your teeth. There she is. There you are and, while life will go on for the both of you, it will never actually be the same.