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As Brendan and I laughed, bits of egg splew from our lips and tears welled up in our
eyes. Enrique sat silent, saddened over the lateness of his waffle. “You guys got your omelets,
and it takes way longer to cook eggs than it does to fry up a waffle!”
“Aye, you tell it true,” Brendan said, after drowning down his laughter with a sip of ale
“but ye have forgotten the bane of this IHOP.”
“Bane? Bah, if a whore with a fetish is a bane, then I pray to the holy and the unholy
both to burden my life with misery!”
“Who are you guys talking about?” asked the naive maiden.
“Why Shashilda, our waitress, of course!” Brendan exclaimed as he threw his flagon
into the air. “The waitress who’s cunny devours waffles.”
Traveler rumor was that if you had a silver-piece Shashilda would bend knee for you
below the table, but any local folk could tell you the truth of that. Bull-spittle, the lot of it! Folk
hadn’t need of any silver to bed Shashilda… Folk had barely a need of an arm or leg to break
their fast over her haggard body. Brownie, the town tramp, had made time with Shashilda, and he
was blind in the eyes and bodiless from the waist down. You only had to do one thing for
Shashilda… Rub a waffle all over her sopping wet cunny. Brendan and I could tell it to you true.
Though he and I shared our first kiss with one another, Shashilda had been the one to make us
true men. Under the darkness of a new Gambit Moon, he and I uncloaked together and showed
her -- by the trueness of the dark -- our specters of manhood. I can remember still the sight of her
brown, decaying teeth under her tight purse of a smile… before she took us both in, that was. A
reverie for another time.