These arresting images are the product of Hans, a young vegan cook on an ongoing quest to educate and inform their rapidly dwindling audience of facebook friends on the finer points of cruelty free dining.

Hans has been posting up his top vegan eats on social media along with other classic animal rights slogans and picture memes.

Current favourites of Hans include: 

Meat Stinks and so does your face , Tofu doesn’t scream when you rip it away from it’s new born child and the infamous photo of Morrissey onstage in Hamburg applying a rear naked choke hold to Ronald McDonald captioned This is for the baby cows you nasty red nonce.

I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out what exactly these hessian sacks full of shite were meant to be. 

Could they be bread? A couple of vegetable kievs? A pair of rugby balls made from tightly packed quinoa, suitable for an all vegan XV?

I finally decided they were in fact replicas of the alien pods from that classic Billy Crystals movie, the name of which escapes me and which I just can’t seem to find perusing Billy’s long list of fine credits on IMDB.

You know the one. It’s where the aliens crash their cocoons into an old man’s swimming people. The old man and his old people friends swim with the cocoons and drain their lifeforce, becoming incredibly horny in the process. The cocoons then decide they’ve had enough of being cocoon shaped viagra for Wilfred Brimley and then return to their cocoon planet with a bunch of the silver shaggers in tow.

Pretty sure it was called Splash! now that I think of it. Yep, they’re the cocoons from Splash! done vegan style. 

Top work Hans, you clever boy.

Let me give you my heart.
It’s covered in barbecue sauce and scabs and I’m serving it on a plate of cheese and onion crisps.
Look at my square blue plate and matching placemat.
They’re a soft baby blue, the colour of the romper suit you were wearing in those old photographs of family Christmases gone by, when everyone was happily drunk and still speaking to one another.
I know you won’t ever read this, you’re off enjoying crisps in new exotic locales.
They probably don’t even call them crisps where you are now, they call them chips, or chunks, or pomme de terre croustillante.
The people there smile and don’t bring you down by talking about how much they hate their jobs and how Alan in finance has a personal vendetta against them and they’re really unhappy that they’re starting to go bald and they’re only thirty.
No. They don’t do that there.
So I guess I’ll eat my heart alone, again (naturally).

Let me give you my heart.

It’s covered in barbecue sauce and scabs and I’m serving it on a plate of cheese and onion crisps.

Look at my square blue plate and matching placemat.

They’re a soft baby blue, the colour of the romper suit you were wearing in those old photographs of family Christmases gone by, when everyone was happily drunk and still speaking to one another.

I know you won’t ever read this, you’re off enjoying crisps in new exotic locales.

They probably don’t even call them crisps where you are now, they call them chips, or chunks, or pomme de terre croustillante.

The people there smile and don’t bring you down by talking about how much they hate their jobs and how Alan in finance has a personal vendetta against them and they’re really unhappy that they’re starting to go bald and they’re only thirty.

No. They don’t do that there.

So I guess I’ll eat my heart alone, again (naturally).

A tall stack of psychedelic pancakes please.
Make them a shade of pink so revoltingly bright that when I blink it feels as if the interior of my cranium has been renovated to resemble Barbie’s Dreamhouse.
Then throw some sprinkles on it yeah?
Another thing, bit of a strange request, but do you reckon that instead of, say on at table with a knife and fork, you could serve it to me on the grass somewhere at the bottom of your garden? Near a faerie ring or a magic looking toadstool if poss.
Ideally I’d like to dress up in my stripey neon knee high socks and sneak up on it through the undergrowth like I’m some sort of inquisitive acid washed woodland creature and devour it by surprise.
Brilliant, so you’ll be able to accommodate me this afternoon?
Fantastic, and I’m assuming you’ve still got a waiting staff of pixies, imps, and elves who’ll be able to spoon feed this into my mouth right?
Lovely stuff.

A tall stack of psychedelic pancakes please.

Make them a shade of pink so revoltingly bright that when I blink it feels as if the interior of my cranium has been renovated to resemble Barbie’s Dreamhouse.

Then throw some sprinkles on it yeah?

Another thing, bit of a strange request, but do you reckon that instead of, say on at table with a knife and fork, you could serve it to me on the grass somewhere at the bottom of your garden? Near a faerie ring or a magic looking toadstool if poss.

Ideally I’d like to dress up in my stripey neon knee high socks and sneak up on it through the undergrowth like I’m some sort of inquisitive acid washed woodland creature and devour it by surprise.

Brilliant, so you’ll be able to accommodate me this afternoon?

Fantastic, and I’m assuming you’ve still got a waiting staff of pixies, imps, and elves who’ll be able to spoon feed this into my mouth right?

Lovely stuff.

In your own small way you’re trying to make the world a more beautiful place whilst simultaneously expressing a hazy message about the duality of man via a plate of cold sliced beef and plain white rice.
Then you went and smeared your chutney right in the middle of it all and now it looks kind of like how I imagine a tapir’s dilated anus might look prior to delivering a fibrous dump to the floor of a South American jungle.

In your own small way you’re trying to make the world a more beautiful place whilst simultaneously expressing a hazy message about the duality of man via a plate of cold sliced beef and plain white rice.

Then you went and smeared your chutney right in the middle of it all and now it looks kind of like how I imagine a tapir’s dilated anus might look prior to delivering a fibrous dump to the floor of a South American jungle.

"This was supposed to be a super fancy (for college dorm eating) pear grilled cheese… I would have been better off going to the dining hall."
People often accuse me of being relentlessly negative and completely miserable, but I like to think that my ability to delude myself with blinkered positive thinking is just as well developed as anyone else.
With that in mind I’d like to try and put a more flattering spin on this submission.
It’s not a carbonised hunk of cheese, it’s a culinary tribute to the great Canadian pastime Ice Hockey.
You’ve painstakingly carried out a series of chemical processes on that piece of cheese and now it’s a semi-edible puck. All you need now is a mullet and a propensity for extreme violence and you’re golden.
There, it’s no longer bad student cooking- it’s bad molecular gastronomy with a tenuous hockey theme.
You’ve gone from failed collegiate cook to Heston Blumenthal in no time at all.

"This was supposed to be a super fancy (for college dorm eating) pear grilled cheese… I would have been better off going to the dining hall."

People often accuse me of being relentlessly negative and completely miserable, but I like to think that my ability to delude myself with blinkered positive thinking is just as well developed as anyone else.

With that in mind I’d like to try and put a more flattering spin on this submission.

It’s not a carbonised hunk of cheese, it’s a culinary tribute to the great Canadian pastime Ice Hockey.

You’ve painstakingly carried out a series of chemical processes on that piece of cheese and now it’s a semi-edible puck. All you need now is a mullet and a propensity for extreme violence and you’re golden.

There, it’s no longer bad student cooking- it’s bad molecular gastronomy with a tenuous hockey theme.

You’ve gone from failed collegiate cook to Heston Blumenthal in no time at all.

'Yum' says Joe, 'yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum.'
Joe has baked himself a pie to celebrate his three year anniversary with himself. 
It was way back in 2011 that Joe realised he’d been looking for love in all the wrong places. Going out, pretending to be interested in other people, talking about his hobbies less for the sake of ‘conversation’- none of these had brought him any joy, not compared to the pleasure of a sixteen hour Skyrim binge fueled by his favourite energy drink Pegasus Juice.
Joe reflects on these three years he’s spent with himself, they’re the happiest in his life. Joe doesn’t have to worry about saying something insensitive and upsetting himself, he never has to visit his in-laws (or mum and dad as he calls them) if he doesn’t feel up to it, and he’s never met a lover who knew him more completely.
One slight problem, though, Joe isn’t overly fond of pastry.
He tells himself he’ll try to remember this, but every year it’s the same pie for their special meal. It’s not a big thing, the filling is always tasty, but he is wondering if this could be the sign that there’s trouble in paradise…

'Yum' says Joe, 'yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum.'

Joe has baked himself a pie to celebrate his three year anniversary with himself. 

It was way back in 2011 that Joe realised he’d been looking for love in all the wrong places. Going out, pretending to be interested in other people, talking about his hobbies less for the sake of ‘conversation’- none of these had brought him any joy, not compared to the pleasure of a sixteen hour Skyrim binge fueled by his favourite energy drink Pegasus Juice.

Joe reflects on these three years he’s spent with himself, they’re the happiest in his life. Joe doesn’t have to worry about saying something insensitive and upsetting himself, he never has to visit his in-laws (or mum and dad as he calls them) if he doesn’t feel up to it, and he’s never met a lover who knew him more completely.

One slight problem, though, Joe isn’t overly fond of pastry.

He tells himself he’ll try to remember this, but every year it’s the same pie for their special meal. It’s not a big thing, the filling is always tasty, but he is wondering if this could be the sign that there’s trouble in paradise…

naughtywater
naughtywater:

dimlylitmealsforone

Hey, over there, by the television-is that a plum tomato you’ve chucked at the screen in a fit of rage whilst watching 16 and Pregnant ?
Come on now, you shouldn’t be angry at those girls, you should be angry at the system that’s exploiting them and stage managing banal contrivances for them to overcome all for the sake of a quick buck. 
In the ‘glory days’ of MTV I remember when, if you were lucky, you used to be able to catch a video by the Pixies or Throwing Muses somewhere in the midst of an hour long block of adverts.
Now it’s wall to wall repeats of Bodybuilding Misogynists on Spring Break or Your online girlfriend is really a bro, brah. 
It’s enough to make you yearn for simpler pleasures, like a big slab of bacon wrapped around some cheese stuffed chicken and enjoyed vegetable free in the knowledge that there are always vitamin supplements you can take should the skin around your fingers begin to peel off again.

naughtywater:

dimlylitmealsforone

Hey, over there, by the television-is that a plum tomato you’ve chucked at the screen in a fit of rage whilst watching 16 and Pregnant ?

Come on now, you shouldn’t be angry at those girls, you should be angry at the system that’s exploiting them and stage managing banal contrivances for them to overcome all for the sake of a quick buck. 

In the ‘glory days’ of MTV I remember when, if you were lucky, you used to be able to catch a video by the Pixies or Throwing Muses somewhere in the midst of an hour long block of adverts.

Now it’s wall to wall repeats of Bodybuilding Misogynists on Spring Break or Your online girlfriend is really a bro, brah

It’s enough to make you yearn for simpler pleasures, like a big slab of bacon wrapped around some cheese stuffed chicken and enjoyed vegetable free in the knowledge that there are always vitamin supplements you can take should the skin around your fingers begin to peel off again.

There are over 50 reviews for this product on Amazon and not a *single one of them* is even attempting to make a joke about it being the perfect receptacle for milking one’s nuts into, well proportioned nutsacks, or how regular nut draining is an essential part of a healthy lifestyle.
I don’t know if I’m impressed by the levels of maturity displayed by the nut milking community or saddened by my own predictably juvenile behaviour.

There are over 50 reviews for this product on Amazon and not a *single one of them* is even attempting to make a joke about it being the perfect receptacle for milking one’s nuts into, well proportioned nutsacks, or how regular nut draining is an essential part of a healthy lifestyle.


I don’t know if I’m impressed by the levels of maturity displayed by the nut milking community or saddened by my own predictably juvenile behaviour.

So, every couple of months I like to have a big payday blow out.
I buy a new shirt, beg and plead to get on the guest list at the club and hire a limo with a couple of the guys from the gym.
All night we’re like VIPs, people see us and they think we’re reality stars or cagefighters or something. It’s unreal.
Everyone gets a drink, or a tip, a pat on the back, or they want us to pose with them for a selfie.
Like I said, we’re like celebrities. It’s insane.
Anyway, we have this big night out and we must spend every penny we have, because I started doing this maybe five years ago and that’s around the time I had to move back to my friend Dominic’s parents.
I moved in with them after my own folks left the country, they don’t cook for me like Mom and Dad did, but I don’t pay them any rent and they don’t seem to mind.
I’m a big deal that one night, the center of attention, the main event.
Then I’m back to eating hotdogs without a bun for the next six to eight weeks. 
Sometimes I can steal some ramen from Dominic’s folks, usually they keep it locked up.
I got real sick a while back, I thought I’d never be able to go near a goddamn hotdog again, I could taste them all day, smell them coming out of me all day like I was using one as a suppository.
I had a week or two on protein bars, and then I was back on the hotdogs.
 I was salivating like crazy when I opened the tin, drool was literally flooding out my mouth like a burst riverbank. I ate the dogs and everything was okay, my tolerance was way up.
So, whatever, I thought you’d like to see what a big shot eats when he’s not jumping to the front of the queue or doing shots with internet models.
Write some stupid shit about that.

A letter from Frank, direct from Dominic’s parents’ basement. 

So, every couple of months I like to have a big payday blow out.

I buy a new shirt, beg and plead to get on the guest list at the club and hire a limo with a couple of the guys from the gym.

All night we’re like VIPs, people see us and they think we’re reality stars or cagefighters or something. It’s unreal.

Everyone gets a drink, or a tip, a pat on the back, or they want us to pose with them for a selfie.

Like I said, we’re like celebrities. It’s insane.

Anyway, we have this big night out and we must spend every penny we have, because I started doing this maybe five years ago and that’s around the time I had to move back to my friend Dominic’s parents.

I moved in with them after my own folks left the country, they don’t cook for me like Mom and Dad did, but I don’t pay them any rent and they don’t seem to mind.

I’m a big deal that one night, the center of attention, the main event.

Then I’m back to eating hotdogs without a bun for the next six to eight weeks. 

Sometimes I can steal some ramen from Dominic’s folks, usually they keep it locked up.

I got real sick a while back, I thought I’d never be able to go near a goddamn hotdog again, I could taste them all day, smell them coming out of me all day like I was using one as a suppository.

I had a week or two on protein bars, and then I was back on the hotdogs.

I was salivating like crazy when I opened the tin, drool was literally flooding out my mouth like a burst riverbank. I ate the dogs and everything was okay, my tolerance was way up.

So, whatever, I thought you’d like to see what a big shot eats when he’s not jumping to the front of the queue or doing shots with internet models.

Write some stupid shit about that.

A letter from Frank, direct from Dominic’s parents’ basement. 

These biscuits were plucked straight from a child’s nightmare. 

I thought I recognised my friend Robin’s abductor amongst the leering grins, but it was just another chocolatey mirage.

Maybe one day he’ll return, holding two ice cream cones in hand for me and him, untouched by the passing of twenty long years.

Perhaps I’ll awake to a world where my youthful dreams and aspirations could still come true.

The world would not be so bleak, I’d not be so alone, and the clamouring voices of the rat demon cookies would not speak so loud into my fragile ears.

These biscuits were plucked straight from a child’s nightmare.

I thought I recognised my friend Robin’s abductor amongst the leering grins, but it was just another chocolatey mirage.

Maybe one day he’ll return, holding two ice cream cones in hand for me and him, untouched by the passing of twenty long years.

Perhaps I’ll awake to a world where my youthful dreams and aspirations could still come true.

The world would not be so bleak, I’d not be so alone, and the clamouring voices of the rat demon cookies would not speak so loud into my fragile ears.