I am sitting at the bar in a tropical-themed bar and grill, drinking and talking with my grandfather. Papaw is having whiskey and I'm having beer. He's not eating, but I've just finished an unusual dish. It's ground beef, onions, tomato, mushrooms, cheese and clam mixed up together and baked and served in a clamshell. It is, in fact, a "clamburger." It was delicious. I'm sitting there, considering the dish, and I think, "That was good. I could have another..."Why has my brain decided to torture me with such obvious, thick-as-a-brick, not to mention crude and vulgar, symbolism? Since the Holy Hobgoblin is a fiction, one has to wonder how human beings evolved to get any utility out of such a weird mental process.
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- Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion) (
montecristo) wrote,
Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion)
montecristo
Clamburger in paradise? Some days, my subconscious seems hell bent on embarrassing me.
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My jaw left hurting dropped wide open just like the day I heard
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A planet of playthings, we dance on the strings of powers we cannot perceive?
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Out on the road today I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac...
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