With Apologies To Any Banjo Players Out There:
A banjo player named Danghead, famous for his sonorous twanging and his daily drug habit, was having drinks with friends. Two of them were discussing the rigors of travel.
“I flew in last night from Dusseldorf,” the fat blonde said, “got home and couldn’t sleep a wink.”
Junie, a taxidermist’s assistant, opened her purse, took out a pale green capsule and held it out. “Here, try one of these," Junie said, "but they’re really strong so just take half.”
Junie pried the capsule apart with her fingernails, spilled some powder on the table, and began fitting it back together to give what was left to her friend.
Danghead, watching in horror, bent across the table and began licking up the discarded pile of powder, his tongue lapping at the old wood table and its sticky residues of beer and cigarette ash. Once he'd ingested every trace of the powder Danghead looked up at Junie with a look of sharp reproval.
“Don’t you know,” he stammered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "there are people in Europe who are awake and might need some of this stuff?”