The Wonderful Hallucinations of Famine

Last week, through some misplaced sense of duty I decided to give my food to those in more need than myself. Such are the afflictions of a man in his search for a higher purpose.

What a really stupid thing to do. I mean firstly the sounds of protest that ones stomach makes after eight hours of self induced starvation are so loud that the family insisted that the music be turned up to drown out, "dads gross noise".

That's the thing about crusades, once you are on your horse and eight hours into your journey with camera's and CNN monitoring your progress, the fear isn't of failure but of what a sizable asshole you will look like if you are caught with the Dagwood stuffed into the side of your jowl while trying to look innocent and concerned for those of our less fortunate brothers and sisters. So sadly I had no option but to meet my obligation and keep my mouth wide and shut.

In my second day of deprivation I now had painful stomach cramps and the tune playing from my belly sounded similar to a tone deaf student sitar player who was suffering from a bought of really bad Bombay boxer. You know that curry you had that just won't let you forget for two days.

Ah, but I had a plan. I being a lover of sport would commandeer the TV and couch and get really involved and bad tempered watching the Cricket. That was sure to take my mind off the hunger pains and thoughts of sustenance, besides one of my worst sounds is the calypso and if anything could drown out what now seemed to be the roar from my midriff, Jamaican cannabis induced tin banging would do it.

A beautiful day in the West Indies, everything set and then oh no the camera man turns to the crowd and what are they doing, yip you guessed it, stuffing themselves. Big, fabulous hot dogs with tomato and mustard sauce dripping from the bottom of the bun. My stomach now turns it up a notch and I double up in pain. Fat fuckers I thought.