Puke Of Hurl
Puke, Puke, Puke of Hurl
Puke, Puke, Puke of Hurl
Puke, Puke, Puke of Hurl
Puke, Puke, Puke of Hurl
As I walk through this world
Nothing can stop the Puke of Hurl
And you, the trap you unfurled
And you can so hurt me, oh yes
TWO DAYS EARLIER
I love leftovers. There I was at the fast food restaurant picking up dinner when I had my aha moment. I’ll get extra deep fried things on purpose so I’ll have enough for leftovers in the future.
Eureka.
It would be something, a small thing, that I was actually looking forward to.
Meanwhile, deep in the Pacific Ocean, somewhere over the Great Pacific garbage patch, ominous dark swirling clouds began to form.
PRESENT DAY
It was almost lunch time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was in a good mood. I was on the way to the kitchen to prep my lunch. The lunch I had been looking forward to for two whole days. There was a bounce in my step as I walked down the hall. I hummed a little song to myself. I paused in the living room and played a game of peek-a-boo with the cat.
In less than five minutes I would be dead.
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Regurgitation: Special Kibble
What could be better for Regurgitation Sundays than a post about food? Perfect. It’s a match made in heaven. Dare I even say it? Special.
It was exactly over three years ago today (give or take a few months) that I wrote a sublime piece about how “specials” work in restaurants. Today I’m giving out a free “upgrade,” a side serving of regurgitation. You only have to provide your own sour cream, chives and bacon. As always, I bring the butter.
In a rare and provocative behind-the-scenes glimpse of how this blog works (I’ll be brief) you should know that not all of my posts are carefully planned and storyboarded months in advance. Not all of them. Sometimes they are knee-jerk reactions to last-minute things. I really should have a category called “Oh Shit.”
Take last night for example. My wife and I went out to eat. Mainly because our kitchen was destroyed by the act of packing for the big move. As we walked into the place the “specials” board caught our eye. We paused and gave it the once over.
“Hmm,” my wife said. “They have a carrot salad for $8. That sounds good.”
Whatever, crazy person. Good for their bank account, maybe.
Once seated I was perusing the menu without much success when I heard my wife say, “Oh, shit.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking up and suddenly terrified.
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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