the french fry
Pierre’s fingers and hands were aching, beginning to cramp up now. He had been hanging on to the ledge for over ten minutes. He had felt so sure that this was what he wanted to do. What he in fact set out to do. The only solution to his problems. Solution, hah ! What a joke. If this was really the way out then 50 % or more of the world’s population would be dead by committing suicide.
By now his hands were really hurting. They were all bloody from several fingernails tearing loose. Pierre peers down from the catherdral, maybe a 100′, maybe 150′, who knows. One thing’s for sure, it’s a long way down from the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral to the bottom of that huge vat filled with hot, scalding cooking oil.
Well, this was it. Decision time. He would flip a coin if he had a free hand but, no such luck. You know the heads I win tails you lose type of thing. In other words, Pierre was going, he was going. Little by little each finger came off the ledge as though they were being pried loose by a mythical giant of some kind. Off they came. ” This little piggy went to market this little piggy went home”. Finally Pierre was down to his last finger, the little pink on his right hand and then – sloop-yeowwww! SPLASH . He was gone. There was no doubt. Pierre was a hit ! He splashed around in there, that hot, boiling bubbling cauldron of oil and he fried.
And so it goes that this is how the original French fry was created.Twilight comes but once a day. Other’s it seems are here to stay.
When Synapses Go Bad 