spam meat

it still irritates me that my co-worker back at 7-Eleven forced ham and spam into my face, she literally grabbed it and smashed it against my lips after I told her: “spam and ham make me instantly gag to the point I puke if I know I’m eating it, I don’t want to eat it” yet she tried to force me to anyway

INTP, ENFP: spam
  • ENFP: i spent all of yesterday procrastinating ugh
  • INTP: hey me too
  • ENFP: what'd you do?? i just kind of stared at my wall and ate food
  • INTP: i was reading up on Korean snacks and somehow ended up learning about the entire history of SPAM
  • ENFP: you mean like the meat??
  • INTP: yup
  • ENFP: lmao why though
  • INTP: dude i don't know
  • INTP: but what i do know is that spam was invented in Austin, Minnesota, which is also where the spam museum is, is made of pork shoulder and ham, and became very popular in South Korea when US soldiers were stationed there during the Vietnam war...SPAM was the meat of choice 'cause it didn't expire as fast and now there are traditional Korean dishes that incorporate spam
  • ENFP:
  • ENFP: that's honestly kind of impressive
  • INTP: guess you could say i just
  • INTP: spammed you with facts
  • ENFP: this is why we're friends

anonymous asked:

spam spam spam ive never actually eaten spam before my korean friend loves it idek how to cook it also spam super practical american meat

well, you don’t really eat spam alone kkkkk it’s eaten for example with stew or fried rice so…. :>


Imagine: You’ve been craving coffee, and Daryl, whom you barely even know, makes a special run to surprise you with some.


“Hey, Olivia, got any coffee?” You ask as you pull cans of beans off of the shelves in the makeshift food pantry.

“Sorry.” Olivia shrugs. “We haven’t had coffee for about a year.”

You sigh. “Figures.” You look up across the shelf to where Daryl Dixon is staring at a can of Spam. The “meat” was probably expired, and the man was most likely deciding if it was worth the risk. “What are you doing out there on runs, Dixon?” He looks up confused. In the four months that Rick’s group had been in Alexandria, you and Daryl had spoken maybe once a few months back, but since your job was teaching the little kids, you didn’t really see him very often. He was thrown off now by the fact that you were suddenly speaking to him and playfully accusing him of not doing his job. “We haven’t had coffee here in a year. What are you people doing?”

Daryl shrugs and goes back to staring at the can. “I guess it’s for the best.” You sigh again, putting a can of white beans back on the shelf, blocking Daryl from view. “Coffee’s addicting.” You chuckle, looking at Olivia. “Back before the world went scorched-Earth, my friends and I used to meet up at this little independent coffee shop near my house every Saturday morning to catch up, but especially to talk about our show. The Brisbone Chronicles premiered on Thursdays, and we’d just have to gush about whatever drama had happened that week.” You smile. “But, I would often drink two, maybe three cups of coffee during those meetings. I may have had an addiction.”

“Me, too.” Olivia says. “Dark roast. That was my blend. And anything with hazelnut.”

“Mmmm.” You lean against the shelf dreamily. You were a little dramatic to begin with, but talking about your one vice, coffee, made it all that worse. “I love my coffee like I love my men—strong bodied and with an aftertaste.” You wink.

Daryl gave a startled, nervous cough before saying, “Imma take this.” He held up the can of expired Spam and made his way out of the garage quickly.

“Totally forgot he was there.” You laugh. “Poor guy—he looked so uncomfortable.”

“You’re a little red in the face, too, honey.” It was Olivia’s turn to laugh now.


You were running a little later than normal the next week. Class was cancelled for the day because Rick decided it was Halloween (or close enough; the whole calendar system was so messed up that no one was really sure anymore) and he wanted the kids to have a chance to celebrate before it got dark and more dangerous. So, instead of work, you promised Carol you would help her make cookies for the trick-or-treaters that morning.

You pulled your boots on quickly and grabbed your pistol off the stand next to the door. You had your knife between your teeth (because you hadn’t had a chance to sheath it yet, and this way was totally safe) as you flung open the door a little too aggressively and nearly ran smack into Daryl Dixon. His fist was raised as if he had just been about to knock on the door, and you were both shocked into silence for a moment.

Then, you sheathed your knife to your hip and put your gun away before smiling and saying, “What can I do ya for?” The fact that Daryl had not expected you to fly out of your door before he had the chance to knock on it had thrown him off guard, and the words he had wanted to say had been blown right out of his brain on a passing breeze.

You continue to smile, waiting, but after a few awkward seconds of you two just staring at each other on your porch, you say, “Look, as much fun as this is, I’m going to be late to staring at Carol blankly without saying anything, so I should get going.” He doesn’t move, so you put a hand flat on his chest and guide him gently out of your way so you can step out onto the porch and close the door. “Bye, Mr. Dixon.” You wave, turning and leaving him standing there on your porch, that same look of bewilderment and ‘I-forgot-what-I-was-going-to-say’ stuck on his face.


“I felt kinda bad about just leaving him there.” You say to Carol as you stir flour and beets together. You’d been relaying to her the events of the morning, because they still made no sense to you. “I mean, it was kinda rude, but at the same time, I couldn’t just stand there and stare at him all day, you know? There came a point where one of us had to speak, and it was me.”

Carol smiles sweetly. “Daryl’s just shy.”

“Him?!” You snort incredulously. “He’s the last person here that I would’ve pegged as ‘shy’. Maybe the ‘strong, silent type’. But not shy.”

Carol patted you on the shoulder and fixed you with that soft stare that you felt could read every molecule of your soul. “You’re both more complex than you appear, Y/N. When I first met you, I ‘pegged you’ as a little more aggressive and forward than need be. But you can be very soft-spoken when you want to be.” You smile. “Don’t judge Daryl by his cover.” She wags a spoon in your face.

“Yes Miss Carol, ma’am.” You giggle. Carol didn’t like it when you called her that. “Really, though, what do you think he wanted?”

Carol shrugged, adding sugar to the mixture that you were stirring. “Could’ve been anything, really. Since you two never really have casual chats, you can probably rule that out.” She started smashing walnuts. “But, you’ll only know if you ask him.”


It was starting to get dark as you walk back to your house after all the Halloween festivities. There was a little spring in your step, fueled by the chocolate that Glenn had found on a run for the trick-or-treating and the cookies you and Carol had made, and you knew you were probably not going to sleep for a while. You started to climb the steps to your house, when movement on the porch made you jump. You almost pulled your gun before you made out the shape of Daryl Dixon in the shadows. He was standing near the door, almost exactly the same as how you left him early that morning. “Holy shit, you scared me.” You clutch a hand to your chest and exhale. “Have you been standing here all day?” That would be weird.

“No.” Daryl answered quickly. “I uh… I went home, but I knew you’d be comin back around this time, so I came back.”

“Ok.” You say. It was quiet again for a while. “Can I help you?” You say before you can catch yourself. You were remembering what Carol said about being aggressive, and you didn’t want to make him feel unwelcome. You were just itching to know what he wanted to say.

“I gotcha sumthin.”

“You… wait, what?” You were confused. In the dying light of the day, you could see Daryl turning red. Holy shit, Carol was right. He was shy. “Sorry, I just, I wasn’t expecting that.” You try to soften up a bit. “You got me… like a gift?” He nods. “Ok. That was nice of you.” You still didn’t know what it was, so it may not have been nice of him at all. “What is it?”

“I wanted to put it together and bring it to you, but I… I can’t figure it out. It’s at my house.”

You hoped it wasn’t a vibrator; that would be a weird gift to get from a man you barely knew. You immediately berate yourself for having this thought. You have literally no reason to believe that it’s a vibrator, you moron. Why is that the first place you go? You think to yourself.

“I live that way.” Daryl walks off your porch and heads in the direction of his house.

This was abnormal. To say the least. “Um, Ok.” You follow.

It was a quiet, but not all unpleasant walk to Daryl’s home. It was dark now, but the warm October night was littered with stars; that was the only great thing about the apocalypse: no more light pollution. One could see the universe for miles in every direction. “I love how clearly you can see the stars.” You mutter, looking up as you walk. “Man’s punishment was the walkers, but our reward is the cosmos.”

Daryl shrugged, looking up briefly. “I think our reward ain’t up there, it’s down here. A second chance.”

“How do you mean?” But he didn’t elaborate, only kept walking.

Finally, you reach the house that had been assigned to Daryl, and you both go inside. Daryl leads you into the kitchen, flipping on lights as he went. “Stay here.” He pointed to the spot you were standing in. He turned around to open a cabinet, then turned back and said, “Close your eyes.” When his back is turned again, you roll your eyes before closing them. You hear him rustling around in the cabinet and setting things on the counter. After a few moments, you hear, “Open ‘em.”

When you open your eyes, what you see is easily twenty times better than a vibrator. Daryl was holding a brand new coffee maker and a bag of French roast un-ground coffee beans. You almost started crying. “Oh my god, Daryl, this isn’t a gift!” You practically scream, trying not to tackle him in a hug. “This is pure deliverance!”

He cracks a sheepish smile. “I saw the coffee maker on a run yesterday, and I remembered what you said. It took me a few hours to find the beans, but, here they are.”

“How can I ever thank you?” You were hugging the coffee maker shamelessly now and inhaling the deep aroma of the beans through their silver packaging.

Daryl shrugged, holding up two mugs. “Have a cup of coffee with me.”


I have to read the first half of Hamlet and 100 pages of The Hunger Games by tomorrow, but I do this instead… Oh well, too late to make a non-procrastinatey decision!