August 05, 2004
drosophila bacchasaturnalian
Don Ho sang about tiny bubbles in his wine. BrilliantEditor sings about tiny bubbles in his spine which is a corruption of the way the guy on the radio used to sing, "Tiny bubbles in my spa." He was selling whirlpool items.
I cannot sing any of those songs. No. I cannot. What I can sing, what I am inspired to sing, in fact, is, "Tiny drunk bugs, in my wine."
Little punks. I've done my best to shoo them from the kitchen. Apparently they like that. I guess that's why they call them fruit flies.
Fruit flies are lovely specimens when it comes to genetic study. They are simple creatures who like mashed up bananas and are willing to live in tubes. They have sex in public. They don't seem to mind when they're separated from their eggs. They don't even mind when they get a heavy dose of Fly-Nap (tm) and kick the tiny fruit fly bucket.
But why are they living in my wine? Are they telling me to drink faster? Are they telling me that they're willing to die so that I may consume more non-digestible protein? What are they saying?
I don't know what they're saying.
But I'm saying I need another glass of wine.
