Wrong question! I am neither to be eaten, nor to be spat out. That fate is reserved for other people -- the bad guys. The purple people.
Do you remember that song -- or was it a line of toys? -- called "The Purple People Eaters"? No, you are probably too young. Well, the reason I remember it is because of an unfortunate elderly salesclerk I saw in a 5-and-10. She was such a respectable-looking lady, with a neatly frizzed gray perm and granny glasses (before this was fashionable), and the store management had suited her out in this perfectly ridiculous purple costume, and she was so obviously totally embarrassed and humiliated! The sight has stuck in my memory ever since, probably because it made me so angry. To me, that salesclerk was the very symbol of wage slavery, of how some people have to sell their souls, or their dignity, at the very least, for the sake of a buck.
(What I can't remember is whether the purples ate people, or whether people ate the purples.}
Talk about free association! <g> |
