What’s that? Yes, I was just in the lavatory. Why?
What are you laughing about? What is so funny, I ask you?
Oh, please. Must we be so juvenile?
Come off it, Horace. We’re grown adults, the two of us. And, if you must keep on the subject, be aware that it’s done wonders for me. I love it.
Oh, now I’ve gotten your attention, have I? Yes, you heard correctly – I love this “diarrhoea”, as you so uncouthly refer to it.
For a multitude of reasons, thank you!
Happily! One, my… my weight is down! All that pheasant from Epiphany is just melting away! Two, though I may not have the science to defend the claim, my tract will have never been cleaner by the end of this. And three, I am proud to say that thanks to this blessed intestinal blight, my reading has increased exponentially.
Nonsense – not mere magazines! Given the length and frequency of my, shall I say, vacations, I’ve moved on to grittier stuff. The classics! Introductions, appendices, footnotes and all! The words and wisdom of the wits of the ages – all for the low price of several days of decreased productivity and a few hasty exits?
Well, if you want to bring that up, then yes. The bus’ chauffeur really oughtn’t have reacted so – children were present.
Regardless, if our waiter at Three Amigos had told me that my Carne Kaboom was going to have me grappling with eighteen horrible poops a day, of course I would have sent it back. But if he had set down our complimentary tortilla chips, given us our water, and told me they had a special on a ground beef and jalapeno dish that would have me halfway through the complete Balzac in half a week’s time, why, I’d have ordered seconds!
Oh, act not so high and mighty. What is that, a Harper’s? Yes, I suppose that’s all you really have the time for, what with your busy schedule and sedate, zen-like innards. I imagine you could barely finish the Index before having to go do some manner of thing or, God forbid, take another pedestrian urination.
Why, oftentimes, I find myself lamenting that the diarrhoea isn’t chronic enough! So compelling are the travails of de Rastignac that I pray, ‘pon my knees, for but another fest’ring morsel! Yet another bar to keep my in such a benevolent cell!
Of course not literally ‘pon my knees, Horace. I have diarrhoea. I’ll be sitting down. Bettering myself. Like young John Stuart Mill, with his famously scholastic upbringing and legendarily fatty diet, I…
Yes, I imagine a simple mind would react suchly. Said ‘lower functions,’ to paraphrase your brusquery, are entirely subservient to higher learning. Much as I’d love to stay and educate you further, I regret – though absolutely not – that le comedie humaine is due to resume any second now. I bid you adieu – until next time, simple Horace! Until we meet again, ignorant living room!
…oh, and we need a plunger.
…childish, Horace. Just childish.