PEPPER FOR YOUR STEAK

regular. You are overheating in the swamp of experience, surrounded by other monkey-humanoids who claim you owe them the favor of many, many contrived obligations. They hover and wait unceasingly at the edge of your private, secret swamp. Here it is damp and fertile, out there is is dry and ideas are scarce. Though you must sneak through undetected, undiscovered by your adversaries, you have chosen to carry with you the weapons of the highest monkeys: intellect, adaptability, and a comic wit. You also brought with you into the swamp, a small steak wrapped in grease-paper. Maybe now is the time for a sacrifice. Taking a long breath, you unwrap the steak and cradle it lovingly in your bruised hands. It is cold, fiery red and soft to the touch. It yields to your finger when you press against it delicately, somehow firm and inviting, yet soft and ready. How you long to cover it in Pepper. You yearn to let the grains of the sweet black currents drift from the grinder to your palm, and then from your palm onto the flesh, like the eternal sands of the Sahara. Suddenly you realize how high you are, fondling a steak in your kitchen alone on a Saturday. But so what, eh? So lets get some pepper on that dam thing. Steaks love nothing more than Pepper, just like Beagles love Blueberries and Tigers hate cinnamon. Get those headphones, burn that grass, lets make this a real dam occasion. Suddenly you feel alive. Your brain has temporarily been lifted. It will be ok. You can't hear the guards anymore. There is no swamp. There is no swamp. There is no swamp.......... but there IS... Pepper for your Steak!