DOODLE SACK

The problem with eating is that it makes me hungry. After a bit of something tasty, one naturally wants more.
And then one feels bloated.
If one surrenders.

Food, alas, is not at all like sex.


I don't have breakfast until several hours after rising in the morning. Preferably closer to tea-time than lunch. Honestly, I do not feel peckish till then. Coffee, tea, and a pipe sustain me pretty darn well.

These too, alas, are not at all like sex.


What's really like sex is bag-pipe music.

Think about it. It's vibrant, loud, rambunctious, and though a pleasant private matter, best not done in public.
Nothing says dubious sense of values more than bagpipe music with more inspiration than skill, and exposure to mediocre public exhibit makes one feel slightly unwell.


For crapsakes, folks, get a hillside!


As you can tell, I rather like a bit of bag-pipe music now and then.
Don't worry, I shan't turn into a Scotsman.
Or a blancmange.





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