affame_le_geant_c'est_quoi fyn gula the mandrill's wineglass was empty, her tongue was swollen, and her body was tingling. she watched praayli move about the room with the grace of a russian ballerina. she knew her vision was clouded by the white merlot and the second bottle of classico chianti, but she didn't care, she liked it, seeing life as if it was a painting appearing from the brush of a god. she smiled as her empty glass was lifted and a shot of grappa was set before her. her new friends were a blur of white smiles, rabbit ears, blue feathers and angled paper. they lifted the small glasses in unison and shouts of "salute!" bang! went the empties to the oak table and couge came aroud to fill them again. one by one, to his wife, to thora, to twinkletoes and then he put his free hand on the mandrill's shoulder and as he poured the sweet nectar for her, he also whispered in her ear, although he did so as one on the stage would whisper, with that familiar and characteristic sense of drama so everyone in his raptured, inebriated audience could hear. "tell us a small joke before dessert, won't you darling?" the mandrill smelled his breath, hot and fragrant with wine, delicacy, luxuary, friendship, and she turned for a moment to catch his gaze, immediately noticing that his demeanor had changed. the judgement of her evil past was gone like the grey of rain and in his upturned brow she saw along with frivolity, a toothy smile of forgiveness, and most importantly, acceptance. his throaty request, more a jovial intimation was accepted as a challenge, a test not only of her social adherence that she longed to pass, but an invitation to be one of them, a member of this circle of happiness. "a joke?" she thought to herself. couge refilled her glass and took a swaggering step to the side as if he were shining the spotlight upon her. and then the pause. all heads were turned towards her, all eyes looking in hers. this was her moment to die and live again as somebody new. she had te perfect joke in the treasure box of her mind for she was one who collected information of all types like a child who collected bugs, and stones, and beautiful pieces of glass. and out it came like a butterfly with sticky wings from a glass jar whose lid had just been unscrewed. "c'est quoi un squelette dans un placard?" she asked, surprising them with her confident delivery. the four were one smile of delighted anticipation, frozen in that second before a punchline is given. "c'est quoi?" couge asked for the rest of them. "c'est un belge qui a gagne a cache a cache!" the laughter exploded out of the group as one sound of complete immersion. it wrapped around the mandrill like a great pair of arms and she felt its warmth, its inclusion, its love. "to the lovely mandrill, our new friend!" couge proclaimed, lifting his glass. in one voice, the others echoed his sentiments. they drank and when they swallowed, the mandrill felt it was as if it was her they were taking inside them. 030124 ... . . 051219 what's it to you? who go blather from