So here is the terror of the veterinary corps of San Francisco. Did you ever?
I have no idea what has brought it to mind, but recently I’ve been reminded that one of the worst things about the untimely passing of my dear friend Magda is the loss of the jokes he and I used to share about pooping. One of us would return from a trip to the restroom and announce in an exaggeratedly mock tearful voice “It was a terrible miscarriage. I think it was twins.” Or something along the lines of “The good ship S.S. Fajita has launched!” We were very popular at dinner parties. Oh, we had ’em rolling in the aisles, I tell ya. It’s rarer than you might think to have a friend you can not only make excrement jokes with but who has a history of them with you.