Wears the Beef

Hot damn said the devil, it's time for another ass-puckeringly sweet edition of Reflections of a Goocher! I'm your host, Stu Umbrage, and that guy walking by the window has nothing whatsoever to do with this column, ignore him completely. Our first guest tonight is noted poet and man of letters, Sir Sheldon Bivouac.

SU: Greetings, Sir Bivouac, how are you?

SB: Few of us can answer the question of our existence, Stu, the how or the why of it anyhow. The where and when are easy, perhaps even the which. But the-

SU: Riiiiiight. But have you ever considered this: What do you call a vegan that refuses to grow milk thistle?

SB: Huh?

SU: A vetard.

SB: Riiiiight. Anyway Stu, I came on today to read from my latest collection of poems, Rape Ape. This first one is called "A Confederacy of Dulcets":

"I ran Sidney Brace bandage itated Koppel grant farms race in the hole Milwaukee ping-"

SU: Sorry to interrupt you, SB, but we've got to break for a commercial.

Do you ever get that "Not so French" feeling?

-Oui oui, monsieur!

Well now there's a French dressing that doubles as an invigorating douche, only from Hellman's.

-Mon Dieu!

SU: And we're back! Let's see what's on the radio, shall we?

-CLICK-

I've got a peeeeeaceful, greasy feeeeeling…

-CLICK-

-eh, on second thought, fuck that.

You'll have to bear with us for a moment, ladies and gentlemen, apparently there's a Spaniard loose in the rafters and they're attempting to gas him out as we speak. Though I believe the gas they chose was helium, apparently that's all we had handy, so if you come across a chipmunk-talking Spaniard please just hand over your car keys so we can get on with the show. We apologize for any inconvenience folks. I had recommended smoking the Spaniard out, but apparently he doesn't smoke.

Oh, nope, the taser got him. And hindsight being what it is, we probably should have put down some rubber gym mats or a trampoline or something, because the old wives tales you've heard about a Spaniard always landing on his feet apparently don't apply to ones that have been electroshocked into drooling unconsciousness. I'm not sure the trampoline would have saved him, but at least we would have got some circus-style entertainment out of the deal, rather than this answer to the unasked question of what would happen if you took a ball bat to a meat-filled piñata.

I'm sorry folks, that's all the time we have this week, and we have to arrange for a Zamboni to come in and clean up this mess, but be sure to tune in next time when our special guest will be the guy who invented dogs.

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