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Damn, spilled again

So there I was, up on stage, in front of hundreds and hundreds of laughing spectators. They were laughing so hard, it was as if the sides of the theatre were about to split. It had gone beyond the point where an individual's sides could split, in fact, the janitors had already started removing the gore from under the seats and in the bins at the back of the room. I knew exactly what they were laughing at. I wasn't a comedian, hell no, I was lecturing on tapeworms and eating spaghetti. There was a deep-chest freezer next to me, filled with ball-bearings and quarto champagne bottles full of orange juice and vanilla essence. Mixed, of course. No, I was a professor. They were laughing at the pool of liquid that was building up at my feet. I knew exactly what it was, but I let them laugh anyway. One of the quartos had broken.

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submitted at 12:46am

16 March 2009