It has begun. A feast the likes of which I have never known spills across the tables around me.
The difference between the feasting here in the Mundito and the edibles in our own home is staggering. In our humble abode, the grocery bags brought home from the hunting expeditions are full of bananas and apples and grapes and kiwis -- in other words, nothing but rabbit food (hey, have we ever considered feeding the rabbit food to the rabbits, and then eating the rabbits?! Folks, when I get home, we have got to talk). True wealth, of course, is measured in roast beefs, broiled chicken, bacon, and pizza. Ours is a poor household by this true measure, but I mind it not, for it is our family.
But here now the wealth is overwhelming.
You know, of course, that the Codex speaks of the Messiah, She Who Bears Prime Rib (locally known as the Mother of the Petter-Torturer; how such a wonderful person as the Messiah could have a daughter like that, I know not). I had doubted the Codex's truth in these descriptions of the Messiah, but I see her standing here before me now. Every word of the Codex is true. Her presence is a blinding force. The aroma of her offerings goes beyond description. My every sense is being assailed, and I run and jump beg with my huge brown eyes, and the Messiah notices me and grants me a morsel.
Which drives the Tyrant-Kidnapper into a passion. The Messiah ceases her labors. Still, the morsel has driven me even deeper into madness. The force of my need grows insatiable.
Sick with despair, berserk with hunger, I feel myself sliding into madness.
Oh no! And here they come! The petters are out! No! Not the petters, no!
Wait a minute,
The sun stopped baking.
Dogs are running,
Dogs are rolling.
Gee, that's better.
Mudda, Fadda, kindly disregard this letta!