In response John Wrote: "Are you serious? First Conrad Black and now this?! Please don't tell me that one of my last, great Canadian institutions is collapsing. There is so little else for me to look forward to when I visit."
My reply to John's reminiscing follows:
This is only my second brush with the Chicken Death. Seven years ago I enjoyed a wonderful meal (Quarter-chicken-dinner (white meat) with fries....and that gravy....yum yum!) on a summer afternoon in a park. And the very next day...as you used to say, "nausea, nausea, puke, puke."
I must have shit myself at least 16-17 times in a matter of a few hours. And while I sat (or should I say shat) I also puked into a bucket. My knees were sore from resting my elbows while I sat on my seat and held my head in my hands and my back and stomach muscles were so tight I had to have a narcotic at North York General Hospital to relieve the pain. Which, by the way, I happened to have gotten to in an ambulance.
Fucking Swiss Chalet!
By the way, the Festive Special is on again and they are offering Lindt chocolates instead of Toblerone. I believe Lindt is Swiss for stool softener.
5 comments:
Well, Young Zahir (as Chacha and I used to say), thank you for the truly wretched imagery. I may never use a toilet again.
Pardon me for defending any institution that contributes to turning Canadians (including myself) into suburbanite lard-asses who think that "Swiss" is some kind of offshoot from the Ismaili movement, but...
Were you actually tested for both Sam and Ella? I think you may just be allergic to the special sauce. After all, any one of those 11 herbs and spices could turn you into a quasi-colloidal mass; especially given your delicate consitution. (Remember how your hands would swell up like grapefruits when exposed to temperatures below 9 degrees C? "Take me back, Dark Continent!" You cried.)
Anyway, if you could prove that you got the cooties from the Kara's, the six-figure out-of-court settlement would make a little "nausea, nausea" all worthwhile. You should track down the fat bastard who ate the other three quarters and compare stool samples. The proof is in the pooding.
Hey! Look everyone, John is still funny.
Z.K.: "Say something funny, John. John. Say something funny!"
Ah, Zulfika-ka! I shan't forget thee.
But I actually thought it was Yogi who made all the requests. He was such a good audience: intelligent, yet ignorant; laughing, yet not having a clue what I was talking about.... Anyway he always gave me a big round of applause: all four arms of Vishnu clapping away....
I think it was Zul who asked you to be funny and Yogi who asked you to, "put it back, John. John, Put it back...please."
Maybe you're right. Once again Yogesh provided the buttery wisdom of Krishna to save me from kharmic perdition.
Speaking of misplaced h's: Chewed any good khat lately? Or are you still turning yourself into an alkaline-based life form by sucking on supari?
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