Half way to her house, I smelled trouble.

Half way to her house, I smelled trouble. More precisely, I smelled the dog shit on my shoe that I’d managed to keep off my face. There would be no hot Rainwater

when I got there. I prayed that that hobo in the alleyway would punch me in the nose and that it would stop working so I wouldn't have to live with this smell.

But when I got to the Hobo in the alley he poured out his booze, told me I smelled like something had crawled up inside of me and died. I tried to get rid of the smell, I even

downed a gallon of bleach, just to be rid of the stench. After a couple of seconds of deep thought, I remembered that bleach is intolerable to humans and started to panic.

I thought about making some kind of an ipecac, but I was too accustomed to the taste of tabasco sauce and dryer lint and cat hair that I merely belched some of the bleach out. I

needed to eat some real food for once. The tabasco sauce had mixed sourly with the bleach and damage had been done. Perhaps I could find something to eat at the town hall. Horse!

Of course! Horse burgers, so beloved of the celebrity-free Belgians, could assuage my howling food lust. I mounted my scooter and left-legged it to the field behind the town hall

ullicinogenic mushroom grower's bong shop. Dick de Cock cracked two cans of Liquid Stupid and we grilled some horse burgers over a pile of burning cow dung. The aroma wafted

waaaay up into our hungry flaring nostrils, triggering two physiological responses: to eat & then to get to the bathroom as quickly as possible. Dick de Cock concoction soothed