At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, May 20, 2018


It lives on my right side, and extends down to the ground. And I am always aware of its presence. Some times more than others. It is a leg with a bad hip thing going on, as well as a knee thing. And a foot attached, which tends toward gout. Which is another way of saying that it wants to kill me.
It has a horrible attitude.

Gout makes everything feel much more so.

The way to cure gout is abstinence. Avoid steak, liver pate, gehakte leber, shellfish, beer, wine, fun of any kind, and republicans.
I am fond of all but one of these.

My entire right leg, from hip to tip of toe, despises the person to which it is attached. It wishes it were a walrus (a large flippered marine oyster eater), free to flutter around blubber-filled beaches, roaring with pleasure, and throwing back its head surrounded by fat-backed ladies.
Instead, it has me. I am not walrussic.
How disappointing.

Sleep tonight will be surreal.

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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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