A Journey from Dinner to the Mountains

Last night I made vomit for dinner. For future reference, vomit contains ground pork, alfredo sauce, tri-color rotini, yellow bell pepper, onion, mozzarella cheese, and a tablespoon or so of the seasoning known only as Savory, "the hot dog of herbs." Ah, you say, but that can't be vomit because you did not add bile. But you're being unreasonable, I say, how would I go about getting bile untainted by some previous meal?

Let's brainstorm. Not eating a previous meal is out of the question, as are syringes, (reverse) feeding tubes, and major surgery. Indeed, the bile must be extracted from a second party, but many people are gluttons, and many more eat food regularly. What sort of person maintains a pristine stomach environment, unravaged by modern grain, populated only by gentle schools of Crystal Light? I think we both know the answer.

How would I go about attracting an anorexic? The strategy should be the same as catching dandelion seeds or down feathers on a windy day, as all light things behave alike. I could not hope to just grab one and take her home with me. The odds are hopelessly against this. What I must find is the weakness of the light, the thing the light craves. A dandelion seed hopes to form another plant. Laughably (if it weren't so serious), most wind up in rocky crevices or curbside gutters simply because rich, moist topsoil isn't an effective windbreak.

Human dandelion seeds, anorexics hang around men who exhibit characteristics typical of rocky crevices and curbside gutters. These men are hard and shallow, square-jawed and scarred, and may be dirty if not swept clean. They live in the streets of Chicago and the mountains of the West. They are slow to anger. My inferiority complex gives thanks that I know no men like that.

Come to think of it, I just won't make vomit for dinner anymore.