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Pam & Meg’s

Wheeled about on April 23, 2006.

Never mind. I was hornswoggled again. Anyway…

Last Thursday, I went to Pam & Meg’s again (the newest eigencafé in town, after some crazy nut burned the old one down because he thought he was being commanded about by pink flamingos or some such other kitschy lawn ornaments). I ordered a flask full of raw iguana eggs and a slice of three-toed sloth basted in yeast juice, and when asked which I preferred, I demanded both the soup and salad. Both Pam and Meg obliged obligingly. I had something called crème de la goat nipple for dessert: It was flaky, light, and sweet, squirted milk, and went “baaa-aa-a-a!” when I cut into it.

On Friday, I didn’t have time to stop at Pam & Meg’s, so I just did a few cartwheels outside the eigencafé and plodded by stodgily. I was late for an appointment at Ollanthorpe Savings Bank over on Winerboffer Boulevard—I own 7% of the company and plan to announce to the board of directors my acquisition of another 35% today. That nickel I found on the floor of Mr. Harshbarger’s haberdashery before he brained me sure came in handy.

Now I remember where I had met Pam and Meg before: At Madame Beaux-Pieds’! Those were some great times. Wonderful, exciting, abjectly tectonic times, without a hint of lingonberry! Pam and Meg could make me completely forget about Alyssa Milano’s feet, and almost forget about the Westphalian Schmongeling Gnomes infesting my corpuscles and animalcules…

Almost.