latent deliberation of the day 4

There's a worm in my pie. Skinny one. Looks fresh and clean, edible even. Same colour as the pie. Maybe  it came from the salad. Wonder if worms experience pleasure? Revulsion? Disgust? Do they ever spit out distasteful mud samples or do they swallow everything in their path? Well, I don't have much to say about worms except that I'm glad they exist. Not that they make my heart go boom pitter boom boom pitter pitter pit pat or anything but still, we'd up the creek without them. Even the sluggish distended Elvisish worms with a belly full of clay and a succulent voluptuous fatness have a place at the table, so to speak. This little pie scoffer though, interloping in me dinner, who was he when he was at home? A noble denizen of terra firma who ought to have been out there tilling the land with the peristalsis of its being was crawling about in my pork pie and green salad, the cheeky twat. To be honest, I had a certain admiration for his/her intrepid spirit of trespass but s/he successfully managed to deter me from eating the pie due to the fact that s/he was dressed in wobbly pink pie camouflage attire which lent the impression that there were those other minced and blended hermaphroditic brethren already pre sliced and integrated into said pie and I wasn't ready to exercise and manifest my latent desire towards experiencing avante garde culinary degustation. The offending pie, worm et al, was whisked away and stashed by a waiter skater and I was offered an omelette in fair exchange. No thanks. At least camouflage pink pie worms stand out against a background of crispy lettuce and you have the opportunity to circumvent their masticatory immolation, clearly that possibility doesn't exist in the case of an omelette. What the hell though, maybe there's nothing wrong with it, people eat snails after all. Frogs, chicken feet, bird shit, weevils, chewing gum! There you go, I've just eradicated world hunger. Bon appetite!

The waiter skater is passing me by now as I lay prostrate on the roller disco rink awaiting aid from a friendly gorilla. Waiter skater must be ticking my bad karma boxes. "For now I am no longer a man but a worm", I've got three or four world cups left in me to wriggle through, to consume and digest like dirt and dung, to pass the time against whilst the solar system conspires to turn me back to the shit shop from whence this worm commenced.

15/02/18

Illustration: Irina Savina