| Your stomach heaves
and you feel that Death has entered your bowels and is doing that Russian
dance where they cross their arms and squat down and go "Hey! Hey!
Hey!" and -- ouch -- kick a lot. As you groan and moan and sink to
your knees and wallow and writhe on the ground, howling in pain, Death
laughs and tells the violinist to play faster.
Fortunately -- and very fortunately, considering this is the Dark Ages -- a gastro-intestinal specialist doctor is commuting home from work and sees you. He pumps out your stomach with the portable stomach pump he carries in his BMW (Big Mule Wagon), and gives you a bill. "I hope this doesn't prejudice you against all blueberries," he says as he departs, leaving you to recuperate on the forest floor. Now -- how many times do I have to warn you -- DON'T EAT THE BLUEBERRIES!!!! At any rate, you got your stomach pumped, and you're okay now. So no harm done in the long run. You pointlessly click on this
link, which doesn't go anywhere.
|