affame_le_geant_the_bag_of_oranges fyn gula puppertwinkle couldn't understand why he smelled oranges all of a sudden. "fragante naranja!" he said to himself. it wafted on the first crisp breeze of a rare, frostless morning and awakened his senses with the engraved memories of breakfasts in milan, of rides with annabella in the basket of her vespa through the orchards of white blossoms where the fragrance of heaven lingered all day, of fresh-squeezed juice from fruit picked ripe from the glossy-leafed citrus trees. he stopped for a brief moment to close his eyes and revel in the piquant reminiscence. oh, italy! this stimulating recollection invigorated him and washed him clean of his night-long pessimism. however, when he opened his eyes, the sugar girl, having dropped from the speading oak above him like a spider from its lair when the fly becomes trapped inside its web, now stood before him with an armful of luscious oranges inside a reticulated drawstring bag. dogs are funny. if you have one, you will understand the following observation... even though puppertwinkle recognized the dreaded inhabitance of the sugar girl, one would think he would have fucking bolted at the immediate sight of her, considering he exhausted himself in a sleepless nightwatch for her impending attack. quite the contrary. the sweet smelling, brightly colored oranges represented food to the little dog. taste. a full belly. cibo deliosa. in the presence of flavor, dogs have the tendancy to forget about everything. even their own death. 021125 what's it to you? who go blather from