No Post Today

The stomach grumbles and groans: "Poison, poison! How he fisted me with toxin after toxin last night; beer, wine, whiskey, cigarettes - and cheap meats after night fall. Such damage he has done, such damage I will do. That's my grumble, that's my groan, and now that's all."

The armpits weep and wail: "O the stench of his sweat today! One moment sickly with sugar and heat, the next minute a shivery silvery slivery slime, as sharp as lemon or lime."

The raw eyes dream of retreat: "Knock, knock, knock, Mr Brain! How out here the avalance of air gives us such a bald, blood-shot, barmy stare! Please, please, please, let us lounge about blindly inside the fuzz of the skull today!"

And from the teeth, a woo woo woo like the ghosts of a graveyard: "Today we are tombstones, today we are charcoal. O hangover of hangovers, we were first smoked out, then a war's worth of alcohol has killed us all."

And the brain arbitrates all the complaints: "Poor bits and bobs, poor little boy: out you went to play, and back you came as a broken toy. And now, we must pay: with peace, silence, sleep. So Fist - that means, Thou Shalt Not Post Today - no, not even a peep."

I nod, go quiet, wink. As obedient as an echo, bounding about an abandoned cave, or so he does think.