Please please pleasepleaseplease do not yank my tube unless I tell you to, see? Pretty simple instruction, yes? That’s right, you know what I’m talking about, so I’m just saying right now for the semilegal record I do not want to be Starved to Death, because I love me some food, and even more than that, I love to eat the food. So as often as I am reported to be demonstrating Zero Brain Activity, I believe even if I was in a more pronounced persistent vegetative state than normally observed and didn’t appear to be thinking about anything even less than I normally think about nothing, I put it to you that I would somehow, deep in my cerebral cortex, or medulla foodlongatta, or most likely within the Optional Food-Brain I am convinced exists somewhere inside my belly and is responsible for the Voices that frequently urge me to eat an entire (large) bag of those new cheese-flavored potato chips, I am convinced I would experience subdreamlike visions—which I hope would be detectable on some kind of computo-electro-device that I again hope they (and you know who They are) I hope I hope I hope ( I hope) are working on right now for the detection of brain waves in those who are not demonstrating any—I would dream dreamlike visions of workin’ on a nice club sammich with a crunchy pickle to go with, or hey, howabout some tasty soup on the side, maybe tomato?

Yum, that’s some good soup every once in a while, but personally I’m talkin’ ’bout the runny Campbell’s kind you can get your Warhol on to and slurp out of a cup sans utensils, see? Sluurrrp. Drinky soup. Tangy and salty and, uh, soupy, right?

Ohh, and some macaroni and cheese, the kind where there’s some breadcrumbs that are kinda burnt, but hey, I’d take some of that Kraft Macaroni & Cheese Dinner, too, even the Easy Mac-nuke kind. It’s all good. It’s macaroni, man. And cheese. You can’t fuck that up.

And a codfish cake, or “coddie,” if you will. I would like one with cod in it, because I heard that some places (and they know who they are) make that particular kinda fish cake and call it a fish cake or a cod cake or a codfishcake and don’t put nothing in it but breading, and that ain’t right. No proof, but I heard that, so you might wanna watch it when you’re out there, in the World of Food. I mean, anybody who makes a purposely deceptive faux fish cake should have their tube stepped on.

And a lovely green salad. You know, I’m sure you would agree, life is too short not to frequently enjoy a healthful helping of delicate leafy things with flavorful and pungent dressings to wet ’em down. I like croutons. And bacon, crumbled up on some spinach salad-action perhaps, with the whole sliced boiled egg and junk? Fuck yeah! I even enjoy the fake bacon made outta whatever they make it out of. Soy? Chicken? Do they still have those Bac-O’s things? I been outta the loop for a while, in terms of the World of Ersatz Bacon-Themed Salad-Toppings. But those are some Good Times, man, the Bac-O’s, even if they are Fake-O’s, if you knowhumsayin, eh?

I am pleased to make my little joke on the good name of the Bac-O’s product. I once ate almost a whole jar of those little fucker-bits without the benefit of an accompanying salad or omelet. Man, was I thirsty that week. Salty. At one point I put a couple of ’em in my mouth and just let ’em swell up from being In There. I don’t really recommend that, but I’m not gonna criticize anyone who is pondering that particular type of Bac-O’s trip. I mean, I don’t think you’re breaking any laws or whatever, so if you wanna check out a swolt-up Bac-O in your mouth, knock yourself out, but do it in a Safe Environment, with friends, and drink a lot of water when you start droppin’ the B-to-the-A-C-O’s.

It’s probably incorrect to refer to a single piece of Bac-O’s product as a Bac-O, so I Apologize to the people who Make-O the Bac-O’s. And even the fast food, I know, it’s bad, but I almost ate a whole thing of Bac-O's, so step off and let me live my life, OK, hater?

Ooh, I could totally go for a Big Mac and I almost never eat those, because I usually feel a little ill afterward. OK, that’s after probably two BMs, so that might not be fair to the product because of my tendency to overindulge. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s that Primitive Vestigial Food Brain making me overload on the Big Maction, seriously. Actually, though—not a big fan of the “special sauce” they put on the twoallbeefpatties . . . lettucecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun. See? That came right outta my Food Brain, the materials for constructing a Big Mac.

So anyway, getting back to what I
didn’t exactly get away from, to wit; not letting me enjoy the food and the eating and stuff—feed me, Seymour. For afters, I would like possibly some kind of pie, or at least pudding, but that’s when I’m vertical and have a job and seem somewhat Alert and stuff. I mean, sure, I think some pudding could go through a tube, but I still don’t know enough about tubing to know if that’s a such a Good Idea, so if you happen to be there when I’m slippin’ into darkness, please, No Pudding in the Tube. Make a sign and hang it over my bed, umkay?

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