Armstrong, an unmarked truck just delivered a pallet of mystery meat. Turkey. It doesn't look like turkey. It looks more like some sort of dehydrated pigeon. What's it matter? If we slap it in a sandwich, smother it in "gravy," and label it "turkey," customers won't know the difference. Wait, did you just think quotes around the word gravy? "no."
What's in your ostrich burger? 100% ostrich, gouda cheese, lettuce and tomato and mayo. Is it real gouda cheese? What do you mean "real"? Is it made from the milk of Dutch cows? I suppose it is. What type of lettuce is it? Green leaf? Iceberg? Romaine? Oak leaf? Butterhead? Romaine. And the tomato? Is it Roma? Cabernet? Granny Smith? Bush Goliath? Azoychka" Arkansas Traveler? Delizia? Cherry Brandywine? Black Krim? You ask a lot of questions. Aren't I entitled to know what I'm putting in my body? Of course. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. What kind of personality did the ostrich have? Was he an outgoing bird? I'd really love to just five you the bird right now.