affame_le_geant_comes_a_scooter fyn gula it wasn't long after his lunch, a solid half hour of clif bar munching, a few licks of smartwater, and a few riveting chapters of donna tartt's new novel, "the little friend," that puppertwinkle heard a familiar noise coming towards him from far away. it was a sound from his childhood when he used to ride in the front basket of a vespa as it putted about the cobblestone streets of milan. ears back, nose alive to fresh-baked biscotti and pesto in the making, puppertwinkle was the object of everyone's attention. children stopped their footballing to point at him. old men cried, "salut!" and threw back a glass of grappa. young lovers, arms entwined, turned their heads and smiled. growing louder and closer, the engine-like buzz excited puppertwinkle for it heralded promise and the golden potential of assistance. he was thrilled. this was the chance he had been praying for. he waited on pins and needles, pacing about on the fallen leaves, scattering chipmunks in long johns who scolded him in undiscernible russian gibberish. up to this point nothing much was going on except for a squirrel, wearing l.l. bean mucking boots, complaining about the low availability of walnuts this fall. not a minute later, his hunch proving correct, a scooter came driving up, not a vespa, but a motoguzzi. and much like his second master, she was a model. a waft of vera wang perfume filled puppertwinkle's nostrils as she came to a halt along the bianca strada. it was like a memory reborn. she even had a basket in front, but what the fuck was that inside? "buon giorno!" she yelled, smiling and waving a long, thin arm. she was wearing a bocci helmet and removed it delicately as to create the least amount of disturbance to her waterfall of cascading locks. she shook them and they settled, framing her face in perfection. "buon giorno!" the little dog, said, wagging his tail. he approached her without reserve, avoiding the thing in the basket. lovely were his days in italy and seeing this bella ragazza flooded his memory with beautiful, safe recollection. however, as he walked nearer to her, he immediately sensed something disturbingly odd about her appearance. though her looks were stunningly attractive from a comfortable distance, puppertwinkle found that upon close inspection her features became muddled and hard to discern. and he soon found out why. like a computer graphic consists of individual pixels, so she was comprised of millions of granules of sugar. 021120 what's it to you? who go blather from