A polite vegetarian tells us what he wont tell his meat-eating friend Geoff

I've never been one for herding. I firmly believe that grouping humans together unnecessarily tends to encourage dumbing down. I think the common term for group stupidity is "small talk" - you'll know it when you hear it - cobbled-together knee-jerk phrases designed to establish a veneer of common understanding, all based on very little thought, opinion or idea.

Sadly, the great South African braai is often just such a gathering. I have participated in hundreds of these Old Testament rituals, and can honestly say that while some have been memorable, many have had a collective IQ equal to the animal slowly turning to coal on the grill.

You see, dear reader, I am a vegetarian. I am no better or worse than the man who eats meat, I'm simply fractions-of-a-percent different from him. I have every right to attend your cremation party, as there is no bar exam, no password, and no secret shake. I am not a narc, nor a devil-worshipper (not that it should change things constitutionally).

My lifestyle is not a discussion. It's a decision. But when it comes up, especially around the braai, you would swear I'd gunned down your granny during Sunday school. Stunned eyes roll, fingers are pointed: "But you wear leather ...", "What do you do for protein?", "Who'll eat them if we don't?", "I'd kill it if I had to ..."

While I may have tattoos, I also have manners. If I didn't, I might tell my friend Geoff what I really think of him. I could tell him that he is a 135kg sloth wearing a replica of a national sports team's jersey that he feels entitles him to issue instructions to the team via a television screen hundreds of kilometres away from the field.

I could point out that his constant negative references to the government and the future of the country are a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I could tell him that if he had any idea how meat is farmed in factories to meet current global demands, he would be less cocksure. I could tell him that, due to increased slaughterhouse line speeds and cost cuts, as many as 30% of all cattle slaughtered are alive when their limbs are hacked off, and that the men and women who produce Geoff's meat work in conditions you wouldn't wish on your neighbour's yappy dog. That their injury rate would make you puke your pork belly up.

I could tell him that he is an arrogant and greedy predator who has helped eat 90% of the fish stocks in the ocean over the last 100 years, deforested massive swathes of the earth's green areas to turn viable vegetable protein into one-eighth of its nutritional value as meat, and raised pigs that cannot reproduce, walk or see the sky - just so Geoff can have another ham sandwich or another piece of bacon on his triple-decker pizza.

But I don't. I mumble that I'll stick with rabbit food, and play my preferences down so we don't get into a bitch fight over the wors - because that would be so gay, and we all know how Geoff feels about them.

John Vlismas is a stand-up comedian, actor, chef, artist and vegetarian.