But they had Christmas dinner to look forward to. Mansen and "Stretch" McDonald walked into the mess decks and were immediately assaulted by the smell of 'Christmas' mystery meat. They suspected it was from a mammal but had no idea which species. Maybe Blitzen or even Rudolph, passing his noise off as a cherry in the fruit cocktail. Grabbing their trays they looked over square pans of mystery meat in sludgy brown gravy, vats of green beans, and fruit cocktail emptied out of industrial sized cans. No, the mess decks were not the place you thought about when you heard the words "gastronomic adventure". Anal adventure? Yes.
Seated, Stretch ventured the first taste. "Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway." Draining his bug juice, "Hell, it'll take me two gallons of bug juice to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst of it." Mansen knew it wasn't, McDonald was talking about the fruit cocktail.
Mansen tried to think of a way to respond to McDonald's assessment but came up with a dial tone. He thought about the damage we all did in life simply by being ourselves and getting up in the morning. He was tired as a 24-hour whore.
