"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

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

He suddenly realized he was a chicken without a head, he could see his body running around in circles, then he had a flashback of the era of guillotines. He was fried and eaten.