Article: 288656 of talk.bizarre
From: Ronan Waide <waider@waider.ie>
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: hunting trip
Date: 02 Dec 1996 02:26:11 +0000
Organization: EUnet Ireland customer
Lines: 25
Message-ID: <m2zpzxk7gc.fsf@waider.ie>

The antlered head looked down balefully at them from its plaque on the
wall as they prepared to eat. The restaurant was typical of the genre,
with rough-hewn wood (yet carefully sanded for litigous splinters)
visible on so many surfaces that they might as well have been in the
forest still. The music playinng in the background was pretty
atypical, as if to balance the stereotype-come-to-life air of the
place:

    "...meanwhile millions of miles away in space / the incoming comet
     brushes jupiter's face / and disappears away with barely a
     trace..."[1]

They bantered idly as they waited for their starter; it arrived before
too long, big hunks of meat soaked in a spicy hot sauce. They both
pitched in eagerly.

Pausing to take a drink, he said, "I've always thought that hunger" -
here he paused to wipe some sauce from his chin - "is a disease, and
this is the cure - Wild Moose Wings."[2]

Waider. It's been eating my brane for a week.

[1] From _Jupiter_Crash_, (c) 1996 The Cure
[2] Yossi Oren came up with this phrase. The above is otherwise
    entirely my fault,