What Tha . . .

Been away.

Been thinking about life. And about pepperoni in particular.

Did you know that pepperoni is the Number One pizza topping in America? No? Where have you been?

Pepperoni. Hot, it's greasy and peppery, vaguely tasting of what is probably some unspeakable part of a cow, otherwise known as All Beef Cold, that is, refrigerator-cold, it's still peppery but with a consistency like edible leather. I just chewed some, and washed it down with some almost chewy Lindemann's Australian swill, distinguished only in the way that it, too was red and cold.

Sigh. What a life. Beats death, I guess. But, who's to say, until you've tried it. Which reminds me of a homosexual proposition I received when I was a scant twenty years of age. There was likely pepperoni involved there, too. And crappy red wine, probably. Fortunately for me, those were oddly more sober days, filled with work that wasn't, since all I had to do was exercise my immense, ahem, talent, and all fell into place. So, why settle for the moist discomfort of a hairy paramour when a dozen, nay, half-dozen suitably slutty, and far smoother females awaited their appointment with my destiny, For them. C'mon. It was the Eighties. Geez.

Anyhow. Pepperoni. Good going in. Not so good on the other end. But, who am I to argue? Rather more to the point, who am I?

Landed gentry? No. Landed. yes, but like most others, beholden to some WASPish shylock, so, only sorta. Creative? Yeah, kinda, but now frequently bound by the fear of impending dementia and death, ever always reminded that up-and-coming is reserved for the young and hungry. Wise, but appropriate for my years, so, not terribly impressive. Educated? More to my own interests and less so academically: a polymath, meant to be a peer more to Jefferson than to Zuckerberg. Literate? Offensively so, by today's standards, but that says little, by today's standards.

Roast beef, pepperoni, liverwurst, cappacola, haggis. I am, like those various sausage-modes, some expression of the need for society to consume me, as long as there is some variety in the way I am ground up and served.

Salut!