affame_le_geant_niente_piu fyn gula as the sugar girl bid him free access, ad hoc, to partake of the orange she had meticulously peeled, puppertwinkle joyfully acquiesced. she applauded his spontaneous song of anticipatory delight, saying he sang and celebrated the glory of the body just like walt whitman. she chuckled as he commenced to devour the juicy, vitamin c laden fruit. things were going even better than she hoped. and so this was her moment to act. she was the brutus sticking the knife into her caesar. obeying strict orders from proina, she quickly and discreetly emptied the rest of the oranges from the bag while the little dog was busy eating, oblivious to her insidious intentions. moving with lightning speed, she was a smooth criminal, using the voided bag as a net to trap the unsuspecting chihuahua, and then as a cage to imprison him. niente piu. nothing to it. puppertwinkle never knew what hit him. he was like, "what the fuck?" one moment his mouth was full of citrusy wonder, the next he was collared in proina's dogpound. with orange juice dribbling down his chin, puppertwinkle's heart sank. his hopes were smashed like the bites of orange he did not eat and ended up under the feet of the sugar girl as she stuffed him into the bag. the taste of heaven on his lips immediately turned bitter. the instantaneous revelation of his horrific, selfish blunder made him retch right inside the net. the vomit, pieces of orange mixed with the acidic saliva of his own terror had nowhere to go but all over himself. it was the epitome of failure. the sugar girl lifted the bag off the grass finding it surprisingly heavy, not only because of the dog inside, but especially the saddlebags he was wearing. she dragged it over to the motoguzzi scooter and with all her strength, she hoisted it up and into the wire basket that once held the sugar girl's dying baby. puppertwinkle lost his balance and toppled over, but scrambled to right himself. he smelled the throw-up, as his finger paws dug into the basket to find a strong hold. the sugar girl swung her long, shapely leg over the seat of the scooter and turned the key. the engine purred. she revved it three times as a symbol of her achievement. one for surface beauty two for temptation three for the stupidity of others she looked at puppertwinkle, pitiful in his tragic defeat. "waking from a bad dream does not necessarily console you," she said, mockingly, quoting dorthea lange. "it can also make you fully aware of the horror you just dreamed, and even of the truth residing in that horror." 021129 what's it to you? who go blather from