This fat fuck thinks his listening devices are spying on him to serve him veggie porn.
Yeah, I’m sure the National Vegetable Growers Association and Farm Board or whatever are monitoring your smart devices to listen to you gurgle about the carnivore diet, Jack.
Not everything has to be a conspiracy theory. No one cares that you are slowly killing yourself, except for us at the farms and maybe like 3 unironic fans. Your family certainly doesn’t care.
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Most food ads use vegetables to show off their product due to their wide variety of colors and tones, which allows you to make the foods more visually appealing as well as add new flavor bases to the mixture. Parts of your understanding on flavor is based on smell and sight after all; it's why you can sometimes squick people out by changing how a dish looks with food coloring or lighting.
And that's not getting into how showing a few vegetables primes the mind to go "oh good, this actually has a bit of health benefits" on the marketing sense. It's similar to how a pet food company might show good stock footage of the farms they source the proteins from for cats or dogs.
That Jack fails to understand this isn't surprising, though hilarious given he's pretended to be a content creator for so long. He's lost most his sight, and basically all of his smell and tasting ability. It's solely texture, heat, sweet, salt, and amount that determines "gudness".
Funny thing is while you can argue there's a bit of a push by higher ups to shift us away from animal based diets, odds are good that Jack's just throwing baby tantrums at one or two vegan product commercials that are in the ad lineup, and might actually be so far gone that even something like a pizza ad might be doing that since it proudly shows its tomatoes and peppers from the farms they used to get your slop to table.
The only way I can imagine that happening, is if his colon is desperately trying to convince his brain to get him to consume some fiber. Still shows zero concern about his BP or even curiosity about why his sugar levels never go down.
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Constantly on the edge of a hypertensive crisis and a seventh stroke: pressure gud, heart gud, I'm gud.
Seriously, imagine being so retarded you think celebrating having a 160 systolic isn't a horrible scenario. With this in mind, I now am predicting that the doctor is constantly concerned and prescribes Jack some form of medication to manage it, and then the fat fucking baby bawls about the idea of taking a single pill.
He then immediately lies about his numbers being gud.