So, the total-body irradiation (TBI in transplant speak) is really just a picnic. Today's picnic offered an appetizer of a dozen uncooked steamer-clam feet, served in drawn olio and cigar ashes. The second course was a raw cockroach salad dressed in past-expiration-date buttermilk and 44d cough syrup. Main event was a gumbo of maggots and fly parts and chicken blood in mouse stock stirred with a toilet plunger for that extra je ne sais quoi. If you haven't yacked yet, you got stonier guts than your blogship.
The cure for pukers is an anti anxiety drug. Not saying im not anxious, but what really revs me up is taking brain dope. So we have what Heller called a Catch-22. Nurse had to emergency access the med closet and bring out the chained ball of Kryptonite to calm my powers. Anti-anxiety measures work chiefly by putting the user to sleep. Burbon much cheaper and tastier. Any volunteers for the first run? You fly, I'll buy.
I'll fly and buy....Maker's, Basil Hayden, I have a plastic bottle of Bankers Club blended whisky in my desk drawer that I can next day to you.
ReplyDeleteGlad to see that your fine dining hasn't dampened your creative juices at all...however muddy those juices may be.