OUR LAST MEAL---AND THEN?
What is for dinner, for dinner tonight? Oh love of my life, oh dearest delight. What shall we eat, my sweet? Tell me the menu and sit at my feet.
Tonight for our dinny-din-dinner, my lord, I've fixed shish-ka-bob at the end of a sword. So be prepared for a gourmet delight. Gastronomically speaking, this is your night.
Tell me, my good looking, good cooking mate, what shall you place with the sword on my plate? To which of my longings will your food appeal? Will it be beef or tender young veal?
It will not, dear love, be flesh of a cow nor will a lamb die to tempt your taste now, What I prepare will satisfy you but not with the aid of tasteless tofu.
If it's not to be beef and not to be veal to which of my taste buds will this meal appeal? Please let it be fowl. Let this be my luck. Simmered and seasoned. Will it be duck?
Oh, sir, I've made with love and old spice something so nice, all bedded in rice. My shish-ka-bob on the tip of the sword invites you to gorge, not to be gored,
Dearest I wait with the faith of a child for what you've prepared, domestic or wild. I shall no more ask your ultimate choice, but wait for your words. Do I hear your voice?
Tonight, my dear sire, to sate your desire, I've placed on the sword and over the fire small morsels of lemming so lovingly, speared on their way to eternity.
Lemmings! How luscious! What eating delight! With pleasure I'll treasure each bitty bit bite. And what will we do after dinner is through, oh love of my life, oh lover so true?
Lemmings leap into the outgoing tide, never again this world to abide. So go the lemmings. So go, you and I. Tonight we shall dine. Tomorrow we die.
Relish each morsel left on your plate. Then, come with me, my love. The hour grows late. What will be will be. The lemmings are calling us down to the sea.
Tonight for our dinny-din-dinner, my lord, I've fixed shish-ka-bob at the end of a sword. So be prepared for a gourmet delight. Gastronomically speaking, this is your night.
Tell me, my good looking, good cooking mate, what shall you place with the sword on my plate? To which of my longings will your food appeal? Will it be beef or tender young veal?
It will not, dear love, be flesh of a cow nor will a lamb die to tempt your taste now, What I prepare will satisfy you but not with the aid of tasteless tofu.
If it's not to be beef and not to be veal to which of my taste buds will this meal appeal? Please let it be fowl. Let this be my luck. Simmered and seasoned. Will it be duck?
Oh, sir, I've made with love and old spice something so nice, all bedded in rice. My shish-ka-bob on the tip of the sword invites you to gorge, not to be gored,
Dearest I wait with the faith of a child for what you've prepared, domestic or wild. I shall no more ask your ultimate choice, but wait for your words. Do I hear your voice?
Tonight, my dear sire, to sate your desire, I've placed on the sword and over the fire small morsels of lemming so lovingly, speared on their way to eternity.
Lemmings! How luscious! What eating delight! With pleasure I'll treasure each bitty bit bite. And what will we do after dinner is through, oh love of my life, oh lover so true?
Lemmings leap into the outgoing tide, never again this world to abide. So go the lemmings. So go, you and I. Tonight we shall dine. Tomorrow we die.
Relish each morsel left on your plate. Then, come with me, my love. The hour grows late. What will be will be. The lemmings are calling us down to the sea.
posted by Ed Weiland at 9:37 AM
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