filed in Humor on Apr.09, 2001
The trek has taken a turn for the worse. We hiked for miles across the barren wasteland, marked by a sign that read, “Welcome to Fresno.” The journey was slowed by blinding winds, snow up to our knees, and a bit of dry skin on my elbow. (I didn’t actually see the snow, but David insisted it was there. I knew he shouldn’t have eaten that balloon he found in the dumpster.) Tonight we’re huddled around the fire ring (we tried starting a fire on the first day, but a police officer arrested James) while the sherpas regale us with outlandish tales of strange creatures who actually pick grapes right off the vine. No doubt some folk story from their culture. We are running low on food, I don’t know how much longer we can last in this god forsaken place.
The sherpas insist we have to eat David. I’m not so keen on the idea, and David seems downright livid. He keeps ranting about a legendary place he saw in his dreams, some “Denny’s” he assures us is a few blocks away. He is obviously still under the spell of whatever evil was in that balloon. My elbow could grate cheese. I think I may go mad.
David was a little chewy at first, but once we opened a fine Australian wine (Chateau Chunder I believe) he was quite palatable. Despite our fine meal, my damn elbow has kept me in low spirits
I would like to apologize for that last piece. I will never again allow British travelers to use my workstation. I do not condone eating people with Australian wine. Perhaps with a white wine sauce, or maybe a cabernet