CURRENT ISSUE 06/10/03 Front Page Weekly Features Advice From Strangers Ain't That America? Globetrotting With Push Moth's Diary Musing With Mitch Riding Shotgun With Adventure Info Archives Crap Shop Who's at Fault? Contact Us! Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty!	I Want My Supper A guest Probeatorial by Frodo the Dachshund It was none other than the great English economist and historian Thomas Robert Malthus who wrote that we are "populous according to the quantity of food which [we] produce or can acquire, and happy according to the liberality with which this food is divided..." Indeed, we all do bear a sort of burden and obligation to this mortal coil, much as we enjoy the wondrous world of thought, fire and life that our bodies afford us. But the truly majestic truth about this Great Existence of ours is the ability to delve, nay, to soar amid the marvelous expanses of discernment with which our minds privilege us. Many stretch the limits of our very essence to seek and explore the multitude of nuances that our Universe puts forth. Some test the limits of the mind through great pursuits of theology and thought; others find their extremes by pushing the body to its great purpose through athletic feats. Yet I believe humbly that the purest pursuits of our great Kingdom are those which test the senses. Yes! for what are we but what we can perceive? What is the great Coliseum of Rome but that which we can see, and smell, and put our feet upon? Perhaps the most refined of these great explorers are those who work with the lesser senses. The Tongue, so forthright with her desires, yet so fickle with her explanations! What mysteries remain within her perception, the noble Tongue, that all the great cultures of the world have yet to unlock her deepest desires? Ye great chefs of France, do you not bicker the details of her refinement? Do you not lie awake as the moonlight dashes upon your bleary eyes, deriding you that in your mastery of the art, you still fall short in understanding the whole of her secrets? There are those who purport to discern. Speaking out as cognoscenti, as vassals of the Tongue's will, they write in abundance of the beauty of the pear, the splendor of the pomegranate. Yet such simple proxy fails to unravel the darkest and basest of your treasures: The raw and primal need that that mountain of cultural context buries. We are but animals all, and the most civilized of our fancies are only charades to us creatures of the dirt. And so, my dear Master, great lord of the house, gatekeeper to the noble realm of which I speak, this finest corner of our great existence: It is now time for my supper. Please feed me now. (Transcribed by Travis Ruetenik)
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