Merry Christmas, said Blurtso.
Merry Christmas, said Harlan.
Wow, said Blurtso, a tin of chocolate!
Wow, said Harlan, a can of whipped cream!
More whipped cream? said Harlan.
Don’t mind if I do, said Blurtso.
Wow, that was quite a night… I probably shouldn’t have danced on the table, or swung from the chandelier, but I was so happy when the Nachos arrived.
I wonder if the sand is hot? It was warm four hours ago. The breeze is nice. It feels good on my ears. It’s hard to hear over the waves. I can see Pablo talking with the parasailing people, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying. I wonder if he’s going for a ride? I wonder if I should have another pumpkin-colada? The first one was excellent. And the second and third ones were even better. I wonder if I should call for the waiter? Wow! There goes Pablo! He’s really soaring! I hope he’s strapped in. I wonder what it’s like up there? I wonder if he can see me? I wonder if he can see the waiter? Maybe he can get the waiter’s attention. He seems to be waving his hooves quite wildly. He must be signaling the waiter. What a good friend. My pumpkin-colada will be here soon.
To eat, or not to eat,
—that is the question—
whether ‘tis sounder for the stomach
to suffer the pricks and pangs
of outrageous hunger and resist,
—and by resisting, shrink this swollen shape—
or to indulge, and then sleep,
for after that indulgence, the sleep that’s
sure to follow spawns decrease of increase,
and makes of energy lethargy’s fool;
to eat, and sleep, and fatten as we dream!
Ay, there’s the rub; for in that fatness of form
what dangers may lie—the
hypertensive extinction, the diabetic
demise—must give us pause to consider
the view of a sugary grave;
yet what burro would not exchange
a future pleasure aloof,
for a present pleasure ahoof?
‘Tis a consumption devoutly to be wished,
when one of his stomach might its quietus make
with a baked pumpkin!
Thus do cravings make cowards of us all,
sugaring over the dieting hue of resolution
with sweet-scented cinnamon
and graham-cracker crust, and with this,
best intentions turn awry, losing,
in the act of consuming, the name of action.
These look delicious! said Blurtso to the cook who had just made a batch of scones. Mmm, said Blurtso, biting into the steaming pillow that was dripping with honey. The cook frowned, and continued to frown as Blurtso enjoyed the scone. I think I’ll have another, said Blurtso, biting into a second steaming pillow and letting the honey trickle down his throat. The cook scowled with a glance of hatred and fury. That calls for another, said Blurtso, taking and eating a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. And on it went, Blurtso eating and the cook scowling, until Blurtso reached the last scone which he plopped into his mouth and finished in one bite. Mmmm, said Blurtso, licking the honey off his mouth and hooves. Fine! shouted the cook, picking up the empty plate and throwing it against the wall. Now, what will you give me?! What will I give you? said Blurtso, still licking the honey from his hooves… I will give you the understanding that your reluctance to share, is more selfish than my insistence to take.
Do you have any Kings? asked Blurtso. Go fish, said Pablo. Do you have any Tens? asked Pablo. Go fish, said Blurtso. Do you have any Threes? asked Blurtso. Go fish, said Pablo. Do you have any Twos? asked Pablo. Go fish, said Blurtso. Do you have any pumpkin pies? asked Blurtso. Yes, said Pablo, I have three, in the fridge behind the watermelons.