Sir Reginald Continues His Adventures into Realms Unknown

[benchilada]

    Sir Reginald sipped a ripe old port and puffed at
his cigar. His belly was full of steak slathered in mushrooms and
onions, a large portion of mashed potatoes, and a slab of
coconut cream pie he’d had for dessert.

    One must never, he decided years ago, approach new
experiences without a stomach full of good food, lungs full of
delicious tobacco smoke, and a liver having the shit kicked out of it
by a good spirit.

    Speaking of good spirits, Sir Reginald swore he saw
the face of his mother in the bottom of his port glass before his hand
melted and dropped to the ground. He tried to pick it up, but
the floor was receding from his grasp with a not
insignificant amount of speed. He could no longer see his legs, instead
finding sycamore trunks where they had been. His posterior was
still in existence somewhere, he discovered, as a loud roar of
flatulence tore through it.

    The onions were kicking in, it seemed, in perfect time with the mushrooms…



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Current Music: "Polichinelle, Op.3, No.4" - Sergei Rachmaninoff