Passion? Passion? We don't need no stinken Passion

Two nights ago my German roommate had a farewell evening with his many friends. I, as roommate, came along sharing the love and camaraderie that only a Jew and German can share. The evening was an uproarious occasion of goodwill and mirth. It was also the beginning of Israel's memorial day for fallen soldiers. Boy, was I torn! On the one hand I had German Comedy. On the other, my dark, dark thoughts. We went to Jaqimos (?), this Cajun restaurant on Oak Street. Or maybe it is a Creole restaurant. I don't know the fucking difference. I do know that they served oysters. I also know that before my meal was even served I had to throw up. Maybe it was the oyster. Maybe it was the mysterious insect that stung my arm on the walk there. (Its still freaken swollen) Again, I don't know. All I can tell you is that after I yelled Natalie to a neighboring table trying to identify the fat girl from the Facts of Life my puddings were about to erupt. And erupt they did! I made it to the bathroom and proceeded to vomit. Since I hadn't eaten any of my meal my vomit was real liquidy. I laughed as some fluid trickled up my nose. It tickled! I wiped my face clean and returned to my table feeling much better. Then this girl ordered a Banana Foster. What an eyesore! I couldn't even look at the stuff. I helped with the check (although it should be said the German kindly covered nearly all of it) and leaving everyone walked off alone, into the sunset. Ah, with Doctor Sentimental, farewells are oh so bitter sweet, and oh so beautiful.