"I understand." The sensation of the words

"I understand." The sensation of the words slipping down my throat like a bitter pill of disappointment was nothing short of awful. The coat of sugar, of 'maybes', hardly helped.

So I stuck my metaphorical finger down my throat and dry heaved. I dry heaved for all the out of work writers. I dry heaved for all the mediocrity. And then I launched a huge puke

kohe-inspired slideshow for the 2nd half of my presentation. I showcased the fertile volcanic soils of Pukekohe. I highlighted the bus service to Papakura provided by Waka Pacific.

I pointed out that Waka Pacific meant "Vessel of the Pacific" and the bus service stopped at Rainbow's End but then someone interrupted to ask "What about Sir Edmund Hillary?"

I thought I had left that dark stain on my life in the past, along with everything else from the past which belongs there. "What do you know about Sir Edmund Hillary?" I asked the

man behind me. He blinked in surprise and hastily hid the axe behind his back. "Who is Sir Edmund Hillary?" he asked politely. I could see that he hadn't the faintest idea what he

was wearing. The Alzheimer's had clearly degraded his mind in such a way that he thought that his thong and Capt. Crunch t-shirt was actually a WWII Nazi uniform. The axe fell

slowly, but the pain was immediate. He shrieked in pain, feeling his flesh torn apart by the guillotine.

Yet, he felt he could still run around. Blood spurted around the barnyard.