Because of Al's irreverent attitude to my holy sand gathering, God afflicted him for the whole of the next week in Santa Fe and later in El Paso and then in Fort Stockton (Texas) with terrible diarrhoea and vomiting. He initially took refuge in the Santa Fe camp ground under the shade of a motley tree. It was 106 f (in the shade) and the ravens were literally circling above him. Then the cheeky buggers did a low level run and flew over the top of him. He feebly waved his fist and said "I'm not dead yet".
1 comment:
ROFL (sorry)
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