Bonanza Was Her Name

I’m not sure if this works, since I’ve not tried it, but an anchorite in Ireland, who I met in the cold Connemara hills, told me a good cold remedy. He swore by it.

Take a hefty, but not too heavy, woman — and preferably one who has been running to catch the bus to Colchester. But you don’t want her too exhausted. Although you do want her a little scared, especially since you’ve been shadowing her since early morning. (Her being scared brings out the hives and endorphins that help with the cold.)

Now, as the fumes of the departing bus envelop her — and not before — bonk her on the head. Then drag her back to your hell-hole of a cave in the lonely mountains. Once there, slip your congested head between her sweaty thighs.

Hopefully your cold will clear before she stirs. But if she awakes first, you might be stuck with your cold for another fortnight — and an hysterical woman.

And I should add that the anchorite in question didn’t have one hankie in his cave the entire time I knew him.

Life’s like a zipper: It goes down fast and exposes wonders. But it goes up faster when it’s offended.


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