guest writer

Little did my sister know that when she sent an email in response to my last "onjo" entry she was about to become a guest writer:

Let me tell you about hell, Rachel.

It's nintey-seven degrees outside. I'm on a motorcycle. The wind in my face as I ride down the baking highway feels like a blast-furnace, I am wearing tight-ass dark blue denim pants and a black leather jacket, my ass is wet with sweat, my head aches from dehydration, and the heat coming off the motor is BURNING MY ANKLES. And for three hours, to top-off this ultimate misery, I am singing:

"Food, glorious food!
Hot sausage and mustard!
While we're in the mood --
Cold jelly and custard!
Pease pudding and saveloys!
What next is the question?
Rich gentlemen have it, boys --
In-di-gestion!

Food, glorious food!
We're anxious to try it.
Three banquets a day --
Our favourite diet!
Just picture a great big steak --
Fried, roasted or stewed.
Oh, food,
Wonderful food,
Marvellous food,
Glorious food."

Can you think of anything more awesome? As in, awe-inspiringly painful and unpleasant?
Not exactly "Born to be Wild," eh?
Think about that next time you see a hell's angel. You never know what song they're really singing...

It's a relief to know that I'm not the only one with ridiculous songs stuck in my head all the time. Oh, and thanks, M. I forgot to eat breakfast this morning and now all I can think about is a big ol' bowl of pease pudding and some savory saveloys.

What?

R