Today is a day of reflection and contemplation regarding the one who laid you as an egg, sat on you, and kept you warm. (I was hatched.)

As such, it feels like a good time to scritch up another bit of regurgitated kibble, this time in the form of gristle. Today we honor the Taker family tree. Oops. The secret is out. My true last name is Gristle.

Well, it used to be Gristlé but the people at Ellis Island apparently hated accents on characters. They weren’t very acute.

With all humility I say unto you that the pre-digested link I’m about to offer up on ye olde silver platter is, without a doubt, the finest piece of prose I have ever produced. It still keeps me up late at night waiting for the Pulitzer jury to call.

Every note hits just right. Not a word or character is out of place. It’s exactly what would happen if an infinite number of ferrets poked their noses at an infinite number of typewriters for an infinite period of time. Perfection.

To read this piece is to know me on a very intimate level. It’s like drinking a little too much red wine then slipping your hand into my knickers. Hee hee! Intimate.

So, today, I offer up this nugget that didn’t fall far from the family tree, a sublime treat that I hope you will enjoy chewing on as much as I did, or at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hopefully it won’t boar you too much.

In the service of the King