SMALL UNPLEASANT THINGS

There is a fine line between enough cheap chocolate to make one happy, and just a little too much where it gives one an edge of digestive discomfort and affects one's mood adversely when it wears off. The scienc is still iffy on that, much further investigation is required. Do not expect a scientific paper; there isn't a large enough test group. Subjects would need to be recruited and their endocrine peculiarities charted, plus ages and weights.
And it's my chocolate, which I don't feel like sharing.


Maybe I should write up a proposal and buck for an endowment.


By the way: the less said about little aggressive dogs and their distaste for pipe smoking Dutchmen, the better. Stop yipping at me, you little bad tempered pooh factory. Both of you. What the heck is your problem? The dogs at work don't behave so. Are both of you just little turdy hosers? Meanspirited? Probably owned by vegan anti-tobacco fiends.

This is the start of my last day as a human, they will be airlifting me to my home planet soon where I will resume my insect-demon form and plan the invision. Oop, sorry, what I meant to say was that on Thursday extremely early in the morning I'll be having an angioplasty of the right leg, which if all goes well will improve my life immensely because I will not be cussing out my pedal extremities quite so much. Also, my friend the bookseller is flying to New York as he does every year to visit the old sod and indulge in kosher pickles, so the next late night tea and Jameson's pubcrawl won't be till December.

An angioplasty is where they stick a long wire down your leg artery and twiddle it to puff up a little balloon at each obstructed area to flatten the plaque into the wall. Technically an in-and-out procedure which doesn't take very long, but they'll be putting me under, because they don't want me twitching on the slab or talking, or, heaven forefend, doing a play by play.

Unregretfully I realise that I am not a pleasant creature, despite my loveable appearance and the anime backpack I often sport. Which holds pipes, tobacco, and extra pens, paper, matches, and tampers.

I'm still upset about that little tyke at the dumpling place who kept raising Cain. A very unpleasant child. As so many of them are. Probably a demon in disguise.
Undoubtedly too much sugar and spoilage.

Someone should take his parents out and spank them.



The bookseller and I discussed pinball, music, the fragrance of grilling meat, kosher pickles, bottles of wine and champagne, and my friend and fellow member of the pipe club, Neil, who supplies the charcuterie for the monthly meeting. Absent this past Sunday because he was in the hospital having valves replaced. Whom I hope is still a pipesmoker when next I see him, not because of the pâté but because I'm quite fond of him and enjoy his company. If he has to stop indulging in a bowl now and then it would be very sad, because of the pleasure it gives him.

Maybe we can just meet for cheese and pâté.
At least for the first few months.



Red flake in a Charatan after dumplings, while wandering around to Financial District. Capstan in an old Dunhill billiard while waiting for the bookseller to get off work.
Then two cups of tea. I have teabags in my coat pocket.
I'm a regular boy scout in that regard.



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