Not Bad at All

 
I take back everything I said about those giant jellyfish. These days, a lot of things happen fast, but slow, so like a freak accident, it’s hard to know whether you’re awash in the bubbly hubbub or merely inundated by a hoodoo brouhaha. Normally, I like to eliminate all my unnecessary synapses, and trim down to bantamweight. Well, that explains a lot, said Comrade Milktoast, whose sole claim to fame is a reasonably sized collection of dayglo mood rings and a couple of Stalinist houseplants. After the police arrived with their pesky batons, I explained that we were using only the good bacteria, and that there was nothing to worry about. Except perhaps, for the experimental, woolly bully chili cheese dogs.  Let me be the judge of that, said the cop with the two, gold front teeth, as he grabbed one of the tube steaks out of my three-fingered hand and took a slobbery bite. Not bad, he smiled. Not bad at all.