Eating lamb is deplorable enough (though understandably tempting). But to bring one to lunch is absolutely contemptible. It’s worse than using your dog to troll for women–because you know the cuteness and innocence of a lamb is irresistible to all. To make matters worse for your dick, bringing the lamb to Five Leaves, the connecting hub between Williamsburg and Greenpoint a.k.a. the nexus of all dickless “men,” adds a new level of cachet to the gaping hole where your wang should be.
While, in this particular case, it was a lamb belonging to both a “man” and a woman (kind of like how a “man” and a woman were responsible for the Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan “museum”) that made its way to Five Leaves, it is the “man’s” fault for agreeing to own a lamb in the first place. It would be different if you had a lamb and you were a farmer or, I don’t know, Hermes. But you’re not. You’re a Brooklyn denizen. You are not worthy of the earthliness and tenderness that a lamb represents. You’d be better suited to owning a serpent, since that’s usually what you become when you live in BK and it’s the closest thing resembling a penis you’ll ever have.