Durance Vile

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

It’s an alley or perhaps a broad street, or perhaps a docking station in the middle of trackless space.

Where ever it is, if you’re one of this crowd, you know where to find it.

You knock.  The door opens a fraction of an inch.  “Hun, Hoyden or Dinerite?”

“I er… don’t know?”

The person — you presume it’s a person, though all you can see is one enormous eye peering out at you — sighs with a gust like the wind of a thousand bellows.  “His Grace Seraphim Ainsling, Duke of Darkwater is?”

“The King’s Witchfinder?”

“I see.  Athena Hera Sinistra, just another cuddle bunny, right?”

“OMG, no.”

“I see.  And if you’re a Usaian you have…?”

“A fanatical devotion to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness?”

“Yes, but that applies to the Huns and Hoydens too. What else do you have?”

“My scrap of flag!”

“Right.  Come on in.”

The door opens wide, allowing you into a space that’s a medieval tavern, unless it’s a space bar.  Two things you can’t avoid noting.  The person — it’s a person, right? — who let you in is a huge dragon wearing a t-shirt that says Drak.  And over the bar/counter/serving table, a board/electronic board/blackboard says “Try our Cthulhu- Mari.  It’s to die for.”

As you edge further in, an orange cat rubs around your ankles, and you wonder if he’s a pet or a guest.

The dragon catches up with you and puts a friendly claw around your shoulders, “Okay, this is all self-explanatory.  If the floor looks shaky, wait till it solidifies to step — we’re between dimmensions.  That guy over there is Statist Josh.  Don’t get in a government discussion with him.  He gets odd.  Other than that he’s perfectly fine.”

“Oh, I see.  He’s a big government fan?”

The dragon looks at you with an immense eye.  “Oh, very no.  Why would you think so?  And that,” Points at the nice lady in the corner with a laptop.  “Is Celia Hayes.  Don’t interrupt her.  We like her writing.   That,” he points at a young woman surrounded by kids, “Is Foxfier and the royal family of elvenland.  Don’t ask.  It was a merger deal.  That,” He points at a wallaby sipping something that foams and bubbles and occasionally tries to crawl out of the glass.  “Is RES, which, it will not have escaped you, is Latin for thing.  Don’t have a punning contest with him when life is on the line.”

“But what about that guy sitting across from him?  Who–  He looks…”

“Oh, yes, that’s SPQR.  He’s a vampire and sometimes a wear feline.  He denies that he’s in fact undead Julius Caesar.”

“Denies it?  How can–”

“Well, he’s had a lot of practice as a politician, right?”

At that moment, the entire place shakes and a roar echoes.

You ask, “Transdimmensional earthquake?”

Drak looks unconcerned.  “That?  Oh, no.  THAT is just herself.  We locked her in the basement until she finishes Through Fire.”

“Yeah,” an athletic man says, as he walks up wiping sweat from his brow.  “She almost got loose that time.  She tried to turn into a hedgehog and cute her way out.  When that didn’t work, she tried to become a dragon and bite her way through the door.  I don’t know how much longer we can keep her locked up.”  He extends a hand to you, “I’m William O’Blivion, btw.”  He turns back to Drak.  “Knighton and Jeff Gauch and Garsys and I really need something to drink, if we’re going to keep holding the fort.  She keeps demanding to see the political news now.  And poor Dr. Mauser was flamed in the fracas.  He’s trying to recover, but you know what it’s like.”

Drak sighs.  “Yeah, I hope she finishes Through Fire soon, or we’re going to have to get reinforcements.  Also, thorazine.”

242 thoughts on “Durance Vile”

  1. today, I’m the upholsterer, ripping stitching from a seat cover from my Corbin saddle … but the cats, they demand food. One bowl is almost empty!!! can’t have that, and it needs a bag to fill it so a trip to Tractor Supply is in demand

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    1. I have it on good authority that her HERO, RAH, recommended Maple Syrup as a specific for dragons. Especially the Venusian kind. I’d imagine it would work on a Portagee as well.

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        1. So it’s “Wish you’d stop bein’ so good to me, cap’n”. I’m just going to slowly walk away from the door.

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        2. If the employees are so bad NORAD is wanting to give them away we don’t want them, even if they do come in a basket.

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      2. Well, my health insurance only went up a little bit . . . as in one decimal place. And I got put into the high-risk pool. And the ER docs sent me a holiday card. But other than that it worked pretty well. Sort of.

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        1. “And the ER docs sent me a holiday card.”

          You don’t need to really worry until the ER gives you a “frequent customer” punch card (do places still have those, buy 10 and get 1 free?).

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          1. those are electronic now-a-days.

            I broke my leg a year after my sister had gotten hit by a car, the hospital 2.5 hours away from us had plenty of people who saw Mom and Dad and would ask “Oh my. did Shelly get hit again?!”
            “No, it was our son this time, but just a nasty break to the leg is all.
            (sis spent 30 days in ICU, 39 in the hospital total, I was just there 3 days)

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    1. Not at all! My Senior Ranking cat makes a very elegant stole, self-heating, and with acupuncture and vibro-massage. She likes to supervise things like dishwashing from that position–no danger of big feet stepping on toes or tails, and she can see what I’m doing. Which, apparently, is crucial to the proper operation of the planet or something.

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      1. D’Artagnan does this too, but if he gets very happy (and being on your shoulders makes him VERY happy) he drools down your neck. Or, when he’s in his favorite position, being worn as a hat with legs and tail dangling, he drools down your nose.
        EW

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        1. I visited the animal shelter the other day and one of the cats put both forelegs around my neck and kissed me on the mouth.

          Turns out his name… well, we’ve been getting mail inexplicably addressed to me and this random guy who shares our surname but is NOT my husband… apparently it is this cat.

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      1. Molly didn’t like to be cradled, but she would stand on my shoulder and outstretched arm (I have a picture of this on my old Kendra site, I think.) Max and Minerva tolerate being held, but they don’t like it. The have opposite approaches though. Max gets stiff when you pick him up and Minerva turns to jello.

        Alas, I’ve never had a good shoulder kitty.

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              2. About the size of mine– you’re a bit smaller than me, and it looks like your frame is smaller; if Fluffy is the same build as a Maine Coon, and his hips and shoulders hit on my shoulders when he drapes across (sadly, hasn’t since I was first preggers– Princess kicked him, and he hasn’t forgotten the Strange Poke from my torso), then an average sized Maine Coon would hit your arms about where a short T-shirt’s sleeves do.

                Could probably hold him just fine, not heaver than a pre-schooler.

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  5. “I see. Athena Hera Sinistra, just another cuddle bunny, right?”

    “OMG, no! Well, certainly not just another…unless you have a death wish or something. Though she’s totally hot and all, but no…”

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  6. “Oh, yes, that’s SPQR. He’s a vampire and sometimes a wear feline. He denies that he’s in fact undead Julius Caesar.”

    Haruumph. Well, at least I’m not orange. Because then I’d be Orange Julius.

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        2. Heh. Almost wish I could find one in Virginia. I seem to remember liking it when I has knee high to a grasshopper.

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          1. That’s where I’ve seen them lately. I’m not sure I’ve seen a stand alone in a while.

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        1. Seriously? Oh, man, I’m going to have to pin-point our nearest DQ then. (not that we have very many of those either.)

          Thanks. :-)

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            1. I *think* there is one in Chantilly, but I’m not sure exactly where it is. At least I’ve heard rumors that one exists there, but it may be subject to dimensional shifts. And anyway that requires intent to visit the area, not a whim trip. :-( [hey, gas aint’ cheep.]

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              1. the DQ Grills here have them, I don’t know about the ice cream only stores, but I’d guess they do too as it goes through the shake and blizzard person from what I see.

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              2. Chantilly Lace and a pretty face and a ponytail hangin’ down
                A wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk…

                *fingers snapping*

                Whu? I — uh —

                Moving on. Nothing to see here.

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                  1. Currency? I’ve just been feedin’ ‘im pollsters…

                    Currency. Guess that explains why the pollsters don’t fit through the little slot so easily.

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                    4. Considering how fast I’ve seen a side of beef taken apart with a band saw, it certainly wouldn’t take long

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                    5. Hey… Yeah, don’t we have one of those in the backroom/shop? In the corner, behind the motorcycle parts? I think somebody hung one of the jet-packs from the tensioning knob.

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                    8. I’ve been using the mallet, you know, the one for tenderizing the Cthulu (’cause, any pollster left on the mallet is sterilized by the Cthulu). Then you kinda poke the end into the slot and squeeze ’em out and roll ’em up like a toothpaste tube.

                      You get a lot of songs for one pollster.

                      But, still. Currency. It just seems like it’d be easier. And I have all these dinars…

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                    9. I can just picture a chair labeled “Pollsters Only” that sits in front of a device that appears suspiciously like a giant pasta machine.

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    2. WHEW! Swallowed my coffee just in time*.

      * I know, I know, spew warning always in effect, but sometimes I forget.

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  7. If it makes you feel better, you could be doing a zillion zillion footnotes and citations, like me. Sigh. Didn’t meet the Left Behind movie deadline for Part 2 of Beatus, either. And I’m still finding more notes and corrections that need to be put in. Argh!

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  8. ” an orange cat rubs around your ankles, and you wonder if he’s a pet or a guest.”

    Not Dinner. ;-) [gee, guess what I’d reading now.]

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  9. Sarah– Does he bamf? Is there a chance he’s teaching his tricks to Scooter? (That would be a feat in itself– Scooter isn’t that bright, and not especially teachable. But he loves collecting bad habits) Nowadays he loves hanging out on the top of the back of my chair, and biting my hair, and clawing my head. THEN he will try to sit on my head, and yes, drool. *ick*

    Tell Herself that if she doesn’t finish, the WALLS will talk back.
    Maybe crows (or worse, squirrels) will chase her back into her house, if she tries to escape. And that’s before the Hunns, Hoydens, and assorted fauna appear with flaming torches and pitch forks. Oh, and other weapons that are probably classified. I was told not to mention those, but naught was said about references.

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    1. :: cough :: Lizards. Just get some lizards and spot them around the door. Or possibly horses. I think those are the only critters that can even daunt her.

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      1. I think the lizard wizards of Lemuria have previously given her paws, back when they transformed her into her were-panther* form.

        *So-called because natives were wont to warn visitors to ” ‘ware panther” when in her presence. Visitors were not generally cognizant of the tendency of natives to lisp and thus ignored the advice and stayed kilted.

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            1. He, actually. Linwood Carter was a fantasy writer back in the ’60s and ’70s. Not very original, but very energetic and prolific.

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  10. So, you mean I shouldn’t tease Herself with “wish you were here” pictures from the Redneck Riviera?

    Actually, I do wish she were here. Dan and I could go abandon our authors and do something interesting, leaving our spouses typing away on the balcony with their view of the sea and endless cups of tea without feeling guilty…

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    1. That sounds heavenly. Mrs. Dave and I can come along, and the three of you can escort Wee Dave. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. And I might actually get something done.

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      1. As long as you don’t mind me filling him full of sugar before I hand him back…

        Actually, I’d be more likely to get him wearing himself out on the beach, and then plopping a sleeping baby near your consortium of typing noises with “Right, that’s done. You watch him while he naps.”

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        1. Don’t forget the drum machine, a toy commingling the two greatest bete noirs of parents: loud banging noises and battery consumption.

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          1. Mom had a dual-purpose version of that: the standard old stainless steel pot and a wooden spoon. For some reason, that didn’t make her want to shove metal spikes through her eardrums.

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            1. His mother will be introducing the little man to that particular joy. After I am safely downstairs in my office, door closed and music up. The mere thought fills me with fear and trembling.

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      2. Has the little tyke not yet acquired the habit of solid waste disposal, or does the Wee refer to some other characteristic?

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        1. His “solid” waste is, as yet, in a very fluid state. Neither one thing, nor t’other, ye ken. That said, himself is a tiny human, at least tinier’n his father, so the appellation makes it easier to distinguish between us online.

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  11. Pshaw — nothing has ever tried to crawl out of any glass of mine. Not once I fixed it with a hard stare.

    As for Herself demanding to see the political news … how many times must we explain to Her that there isn’t any news what ain’t political? In this degraded age we’re fortunate if the news is occasionally less than 20% editorial; straining out the political is beyond current technology.

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    1. But she would be deeply interested in the political news about Hyrule Warriors being out, as it is the most pressing issue of the day. As hard core a fan as she is of Dynasty Warriors and the Legend of Zelda, obviously she just can’t wait to play it.

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  12. Well, I’m taking a break from Teh Writing to brew up a batch of mushroom ketchup. (Young Fredi Steinmetz and his buddy, O’Malley the exile Fenian are about to be robbed of their gold-mining stake by Joaquin Murietta’s gang of notorious road agents…)

    he Daughter Unit says that it smells very much like Worcestershire Sauce … which is good, because she LIKES Worcestershire Sauce. Mushroom ketchup is supposed to go well on everything. Don’t we still have some of that brontosaurus packed away in vacuum-sealed bags in the deep-freeze?

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    1. recipe? (for the mushroom ketchup, not the brontosaurus gee whiz you have to be VERY SPECIFIC around this place…)

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      1. OK – lifted from a blogger who lifted it from Jas. Townsend & Sons Youtube series-
        2 pounds fresh mushrooms
        2 tablespoons kosher or sea salt
        2 bay leaves
        1 large onion, chopped
        zest of 1 lemon
        1 tablespoon grated horseradish
        1/4 teaspoon ground clove
        1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
        pinch of cayenne
        1/2 cup cider vinegar
        1. Wipe the mushrooms clean and chop them or break them into small pieces. Combine the mushrooms, salt, and bay leaves in a large non-metallic bowl. Mash for a few minutes with a big spoon or masher. Cover and let sit overnight. (I mashed it a few more times during the night for good measure.) The mushroom mixture will reduce in size considerably.
        2. Transfer the mixture to a Dutch oven or other big cooking pot and stir in the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, reduce heat to low, and simmer the mixture for about 30 minutes, stirring often. The longer you cook it, the more concentrated the flavor will be.
        3. Remove the pot from the heat and allow the mixture to cool, then place it in a large piece of muslin-type cloth or a double layer of cheesecloth, and squeeze the cloth over a bowl to remove as much liquid as possible. (I put a sieve under the cheesecloth, just in case.)
        4. When you’re done squeezing, you should have about 2 cups of liquid — your ketchup! Store it in a glass bottle with a cork or other stopper. According to the above video, the ketchup can be kept at room temperature for at least several weeks, because of its high salt content, but I’m keeping mine in the refrigerator. (Basically the longer you’ve cooked it, the safer your ketchup will be.)
        5. Don’t throw out the wrung-out mushroom bits! Spread them on a baking sheet and dry thoroughly in a 200°F oven. This may take up to several hours, depending on how much liquid you managed to squeeze out. The mixture can be ground into a powder and used for seasoning or left as is and added to soups and other dishes.

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          1. I did it over the weekend, and it came out tasting and smelling very much like Worcester, with a slightly stronger mushroom flavor. I came out with almost four cups worth of liquid so that I think I will simmer it to reduce and concentrate the flavor. The leavings, dried in a slow oven and reduced in the blender to a powder, have a very nice flavor also. I’ll definitely do it again. Daughter says that I should try it with shitake mushrooms in the mix, as well.
            Good luck!

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    2. I’m in the process of making beef jerky, as well as having just made some green hot sauce (son didn’t want to wait for the jalapenos to ripen), and some pesto. Not sure the pesto came out very well, though. Had to make some less-than-optimum substitutions.

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      1. I have more meat awaiting jerking, but I need my mother here to ride herd on the Heir Apparent so I have time to build some new drying racks. Turns out babies and power-tools *don’t* mix. Who knew?

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        1. Well, I know that 2-year-olds and the hot carburetor of a recently-shut-off lawn mower don’t mix. At least not without tears. I have never been able to figure out why he reached over and stuck his hand on that thing, but there was no chance for anyone to stop him.

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          1. Yes, I’m mildly dreading what we’re calling the Innocently Suicidal Years. Mrs. Dave’s childhood history is disconcerting. Along the lines of being in the ER for something and piping in her clear voice, “Look, Mommy, they have the same books as the last time we were here!”

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            1. They’re little lemmings. Once Wee Dave becomes the least bit mobile, he will start crawling toward the most harmful thing he can touch/put in his mouth/pull over onto him. And then once he starts walking, he’ll do the same thing only moving faster than you ever thought someone with legs that short COULD move. The Little Mouse has been a learning experience as she’s growing.

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              1. Reminds me of my story ‘Suicide Watch’, about a mono-maniacle mobile baby monitor. It was supposed to keep the baby safe, but the subject kept trying to kill itself!

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                2. as I read that I thought the same thing, especially as I just finished that story last night, Oh ,and my supervisor got a case of giggles when I described the Squirrels of D Day to him.
                  Nuts.

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                3. *sings* “They call me the toddler…. my goal: To kill myself! They call me the toddler – I’m a suicidal elf…” o/

                  The Toddler Song

                  For every parent, parent-surrogate, and uncles, aunts, and honorary elder figure to small cute kids, who find their hair turning swiftly white…

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              2. This. This exactly. I like to collect things that I like. Knives, polyhedral dice, bookshelves full of books, bottles of whisk(e)y, and I like to see my fun things. This is going to (have to) stop. This would be one of the not-fun things about parenting – as opposing to the Ravenous Boynivorous Daddy-Beast, who gets giggly squeals from the Wee Creature – and one to which I am most distinctly not looking forward.

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                1. Other unexpected abilities/tendencies include climbing things you never imagined could (or would) be climbed, and shoving things vastly more massive than they into different locations (low center of gravity and absence of doubt enables them to reposition tables, chairs, sofas and refrigerators with surprising ease.) Those razor-like things on the tips of their fingers also guarantee a temporarily permanent array of scratches on your face from his experiments in eye removal and schnozz-grabbing.

                  On the plus side, early investment in a large cardboard box — a 3X3 cross-section and 4 or 5 feet in height/length — can provide hours of fun and adventure, particularly if you carefully cut openings for doors, windows, portholes, bomb bays, cockpit and loading bays (one properly chosen hole can serve all purposes.) Be sure to emphasize that the box is the ONLY item in the room which may be used for coloring on.

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                  1. When providing a box, remember that a climbing device may be required, if child decides that these complicated imaginary scenarios are boring, and climbs atop the box as it lies on its side and starts using it as a slide.

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            2. Apparently, while we waited to be seen after my bumping my head on the footboard of my parents’ bed (turned out nothing wrong – I gots a HARD head), I was running up and down the hall in the hospital, checking out the other patients.

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            3. Siblings help.

              Or maybe just sisters. Hard to tell. They only try to kill others with some kind of reason, and “it’s funny” doesn’t count.

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          2. Carburator? Or muffler cover? (He said, remembering the time he branded a reverse ‘Honda’ into his palm when he was getting ready to restart a pressure washer and leaned down to grab the pull handle…)

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            2. And never ride a dirtbike in shorts. I know a large number of people who have permanent or semi-permanent (mine faded in time) brands on their calf from the mufflers.

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      2. I am trying to envision jerky beef, but I believe it requires the talents of a Gary Larson to get to the far side of that joke.

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    1. When I get a cut, I like to tell people I got it in a duel, defending the honor of a lady.

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      1. Thanks to the SJWs, that is nowadays a confession to thought crimes. Calling any femme a lady is patronizing and suggesting she has any honour to be defended compounds the denial of her equality, especially as she is probably more equal than you.

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      2. All of my scars were obtained while leaping out of windows of ladies’ bedrooms.

        Or at least that is my story and I’m sticking to it.

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                  2. I was thinking of the story of Hen3ry (the 3 being silent) and being a practitioner of Animal Husbandry … until they caught him at it.

                    The whole world seem in tune on a spring afternoon when were poisoning pigeons in the park ….

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                1. Don’t worry about it. I addressed someone named “Doug” as “Dong” in a recent email.

                  At work.

                  With corporate managers in the distribution list.

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                    1. Yeah, followed by my desk developing a case of dent-itis, after I smacked my forehead on it a few times.

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                2. And the thought of landing in them nekkid makes men that could face a charging mastodon fearlessly, cringe.

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            2. Heck, I had a small scar on my face for 30 years simply from being scratched by the trimmed branch of a bush.

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              1. The “Yellow rose of Texas” (AKA “Wild yellow rose,” AKA “Homesteader’s rose”) left scars on me when I was no more than ten, and they’re STILL around 20 years later— I wasn’t even being dumb, just playing in the HUGE patch.

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                1. Roses require periodic blood offerings. If not given voluntarily, they will take what they need from anyone within reaching distance. Around Redquarters, we refer to the bloody scratches incurred during pruning, weeding, and tying up climbers as rose-bites.

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  15. hmmmm. . . .

    would the smell of baking cookies be an enticement to finish or a distraction from the task?

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  16. BTW, on a minor point of order: I do not pun. I suffer a disability relating to difficulties in resolving ambiguities derived from English homonyms, which disability frequently results in irregular application of words and phrases. I am therefore a protected Ambiguo-American under the ADA and not to be mocked nor derided by ambiguophobes.

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      1. That accommodation is only available for those with official certification of their status. You may only mock if you’ve a ticket to deride.

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    2. Uh-huh. That’s your story and you’re sticking with it, right? You would never do such a thing on purpose, for the porpoise of pun-ishment, right?

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      1. It is an o-fishially recognized variant of turret syndrome, inducing me to randomly emit blasts from a sheltered position.

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  17. Ow, my ribs, my sore jaw, ow. *wipes away tears of laughter* Ow. I needed that. :D The villain for the WWI and subsequent novel just showed up, except I haven’t gotten to that point yet, and the main character informed me that I cannot skip some of his back-story, lack of research be d-mned.

    Oh, and is there any meatsloaf left from the last Hun gathering? I found this in the freezer *holds up freezer bag containing dense, loaf-like object of proper color* but someone forgot to label it and I don’t want to interrupt another experiment. Or something hibernating.

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    2. That is V.I.M.’s ground vampire mammoth. It is kinda all three. Also intended for a WMD and a crime against humanity. Feed it to the were-shoggoth, they’ll like it fine.

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        1. V.I.M. wants to know if you are interested in their line of custom synthetic vampires.

          “Does the work of manual labor with the reliability of automation. By weight, significantly cheaper than rat, sheep, or cockroach. Perfect for part inspection. Renders down to safe high quality dog food.”

          Destroying it or giving it away should help their marketing forget you exist faster. Shoggoth will deal handily with the sort of microtracers most likely when they feel like sticking them in that sort of thing.

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    3. Found it! *reads label* “Meatsloaf: lamb, venison, veal, tears of animal-rights activists, bacon, tomatos, breadcrumbs, bacon, garlic, bacon, basil, bacon . . .”

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  18. Two minor bones to pick”
    Primus – The only correct answer to “Hun, Hoyden or Dinerite?” is an emphatic “Yes!”
    Secundus – Any feline on the premises by natural right owns the joint, or at least acts like they do.

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  19. Don’t listen to the Dragon.
    So, what your favorite political idol or author? Why?
    *Placing arm around their shoulder.*
    Me? Oh, I’m a Free-Market Anarchist, Fan of Ayn Rands, Cynical almost to the point of Misanthropy to be a Voluntarist.

    Have you read Frédéric Bastiat’s essays? If not will have to fix that pull a seat of to the dinner counter/bar…….

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    3. Ah, that explains the subscription form for CarpWorld (yes, a magazine for carp fishers) I saw on the everything-but-coffee table.

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    4. You’re wasting your time grilling those. Carp don’t know nuttin’ and when they do they still won’t spill it. You want anything out of carp you gotta lean on ’em a little.

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  25. >She tried to turn into a hedgehog and cute her way out.

    Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!

    I would write a longer comment…but that would be me escaping from the basement with Raven and the Technicolor Dreamland still unfinished.

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  26. Gah…that should have said Rachel…not Raven. Guess I have the Raven on my mind. Maybe a sign that he’s been missing from the pages of the book for too long.

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  29. Wait, I’ve got Herself watch??

    Buggerit, I’m going to need another, er, more, er, all of the beer.

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      2. Make it a fifth of something nice and peaty and I’ll consider getting you a digest of Glenn’s non-political headlines.

        I’ve been in lust with Zenoba far too long to risk delaying Through Fire much longer.

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  30. It was a merger deal.

    Is that what they call it these days?

    Hm. Not sure if that beats the “Theology of the Body” meme on facebook or not.

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  31. Just wanted to say thank you to some people. I was unaware that Orange Julius was still around, let alone that it was available anywhere outside of California. Some of you pointed me towards Dairy Queen.

    I found a local DQ that has Orange Julius over the weekend. For the first time since 1977 I got to taste that sweet delight. Brought back some warm memories of my childhood in the San Joaquin valley.

    Now that I know where to find it, I’ll be going back. -grin-

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    2. Good stuff! Glad you found a local spot, too.

      The power and clarity of taste linked memories is always fun, and a bit startling.

      And now I have a craving.

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