...so last week I decided to make a special dish with red roasted ego and vinegar sop and all the trimmings. I bought a couple of pounds of vanity and went to peeling. I was peeling and a peeling and a peeling and a peeling but for the life of me I couldn't carve off that thick dirty skin. Pretty soon I scrapped the whole idea and went in for a colonic and a hobo burger...don't ask...
I mean I'm having breakfast, right? Two eggs, two strips of bacon, two sausages, two slices of bread toasted, two slices of tomatoes and a hash brown. You don't, for example, eat all your eggs, then all your bacon, then all your sausages, then all your toast, then all your tomatoes and then finish off with the hash brown. You go around the plate and eat a little bit of everything. It really is all about equality. I mean, OK, you're allowed to keep one toast for the very end so you can slap on your favourite fruity condiment, but I digress. Unless, of course, you keep your two slices of tomato at the very end because you believe the tomato is a fruit.
Dang, how can you possibly eat sausage without mustard..."Waitress..."
...meanwhile Spot, typically weary of Sally whining and the constant bickering between Dick and Jane, stretched out under the old apple tree dreaming of chasing Puff and savoring that pie in the sky...
There are towels in the bathroom cupboard. The clean ones are probably still on the line in the garden, if the goats haven't got to them. Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen. The safe stuff doesn't move by itself. The rest needs cooking first. The laundry is in the shed in the garden. The key is in the bottom drawer of the shoe cabinet by the back door. Just watch the funnel-web spider that lives down thereabouts. And watch the cactus behind you as you bend down to get the key. If you do get stabbed, there are tweezers in the bathroom cupboard. There's a mirror on the ceiling by the shoe cabinet, but as I said, watch out for the funnel-web while you're fumbling around arse-up looking in the mirror.
Oh, and watch the gumboots. The brown snakes love em, so tip em out first before going to look for the towels.
"We were loading bananas into the Claire Dodge at Puerto Pobre, when a feverish little fellow came aboard. Everyone stepped aside to let him passâeven the soldiers who guard the port with nickel-plated Remington rifles, and who go barefoot but wear polished leather leggings. They stood back from him because they believed that he was afflicted-of-God, mad; harmless but dangerous; best left alone..." Gerald Kersh: Men Without Bones