I do enjoy that Ray.

It was shaping up to be a calm sort of night, a spot of white tea and the odd tome, a program of pastoral Buxtehude on the radio. Naturally this pristine meditative atmosphere could never have lasted more than five blissful minutes without someone vomiting or engaging me in some sort of wager.

Ere long I was alerted that Ray had called on the kitchen telephone, and wished to scoot the spheres about the old felt. Fair enough, I thought. I enjoy his honest company and the way he lays a dollar down to die.

Tonight he was a wealth of new language while we played. I took it he had been lately steeped in the unsavory argot of the unfortunate "rap" culture...when I commented on the oft-overheard rumor that he had been making time with his ex-girlfriend, he exclaimed, and I repeat verbatim, "Dang, man! You KNOW I think that bitch got a rude fundus!"

A rude fundus indeed. I confess an abiding love of the female form across its many stages, but have never been put off by anything which could be described as a "rude fundus." Time spent with Ray apprises one of such possibilities.