TWIRLING FURRY PERVERT

What does the severely love-starved mature badger do to keep himself occupied, in the absence of a suitable female badger with whom to discuss Proust, Hegel, Kant, Kierkegaard, and post-modernism? How does he distract himself from man's immense solitude in a deep and vast universe of existential loneliness?

He smokes his pipe, and obsessively reads Wikipedia entries. He plays little mind games with himself, like trying to memorize all the Chinese characters that use a phonetic based on liquid characteristics or climactic conditions. He imagines various juxtaposed colours and textures.
He listens to civil war music on youtube, and he concocts tobacco blends that have never seen the light of day.
Deservedly so.

And he prepares himself scrumptious little feasts. In between going down to Chinatown for a steaming cup of milk-tea (Hong Kong style). Where he might oogle pretty girlies while thoughtfully smoking his pipe after his snackipoo and his nice warm beverage.

Before buying ingredients for the feast that will follow.
Often at or around ten o'clock at night.
When he is hungry.

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Red curry braised noodles with bittermelon and diverse bits of oink. Italian sausage in a spicy cream sauce over Guan Miao wheat noodles. Oven-roasted potato slices with cumin, cilantro, chopped smoky bacon, dressed with a touch of cayenne béchamel. A salad Niçoise, with spicy fingerlings and smoked salmon, in lieu of the usual.

Perhaps another smoke. Let's see, something dark and flaky with Perique?
If so, I shall need another cup of tea. Or coffee.
Or coffee and tea mixed.

Then to dreamily contemplate the existence of nipple, before obsessively reading about Carolingian history on the internet.

He'll also remember the very fine collar bones he saw recently, before going out for a pack of crinkle chips shortly after midnight.

Bright laughing feminine eyes, wreathed in trails of fragrant smoke from an Illusione cigar, which is full-bodied enough for a man but smooth enough for a woman.

*      *      *      *      *

Did I mention nipple? I meant garlic. Nice plump cloves of fresh garlic, juicy and fragrant. And young crunchy ginger, sweet and tinged with pink.



The badger goes into the kitchen, and heats up some superior stock. When it boils, he dumps in eight pork wontons, and a handful of coarsely ripped little white cabbages, whose crispy stems and emerald leaves will present a brilliant contrast with the floating cloud dumplings. Squeeze of lime, a tablespoon of minced ginger, and a brisk dash of soy sauce.
When it is done, he prepares a little saucer of chili paste.
Then retires to his cane chair and has a meal.
It is utterly delicious. Healthy, too.
Disturbingly sensuous.

I think I need to wander around the neighborhood with a pipe now.
While trying not to think of lady badgers. Because doing so too much is not good for one's equilibrium.

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