eek-a-menstrual juices
So I'm hanging out with this bitch I know while she prepares a catering tray for Jamaican reggae-nigra Eek-A-Mouse and his posse of ganja-huffin' island musicians, who are slated to play at a local club on the evening in question.
Shortly after the splendiferous catering tray is unveiled outside the Green Room while the Jamaicans and their sympathizers menacingly mill about, a representative for the musical combo kindly takes this bitch I know aside and informs her that they will be unable to eat anything on the table. It appears that their brand of Rastafarianism prohibits them from ingesting any food prepared by a woman, since there's a high possibility that she might accidentally splash or leak some of her—and I believe this is a direct quote—"menstrual juices" onto the food, thus tainting it in Jah's eyes.
How the fuck do these natty rapscallions feed themselves? They never sit around hitting a bong and start feeling too lazy to throw a Hot Pocket in the microwave themselves? Isn't that why Jah made women—to throw a Hot Pocket in the microwave for us?
Anyway, I ate well that night, menstrual juices notwithstanding.
