New York has discovered the art of transforming any food into voip, by the simple expedient of making you eat it standing. (See Uglet.)
At breakfast, when on voip I feed,
Mechanically chewing,
My listless palate does not heed,
Or know what it is doing.
I oft forget, when I am through,
And wonder if I’ve fed!
I have to feel my stomach to
Be sure I’ve breakfasted!
Vorge, n. 1. Voluntary suffering; unnecessary agony. 2. The lure of the uncertain.
Vor´gid, a. Morbidly fascinating; interested in horrors.
Peary was a vorgid man; twenty years of freezing half to death did not conquer his appetite. When he had found the North Pole, he didn’t know what to do with it. To him, life was just one vorge after another, pulling sledges, eating shoes and candles, sleeping in a bearskin bag. (See Yab.)
Whence comes the vogue of the vorge? As a child, you could not help putting your tongue to frozen iron, although you knew the skin would stick to it; the deed was vorgid. You put beans up your nose, and wheat up your stocking. You tattooed your arms; and that attractive sore compelled your touch. Vorgid was castor oil, and bitter medicines. All these things were horrid, but you did them and boasted of the vorge. It is vorgid to pull out your own tooth.
But how about him who escorts his homely cousin to a dance, and gets her partners? Is this less vorgid?
Oh, very vorgid is he who makes a speech, but vorgider far the groom at a fashionable wedding.
Are you vorgid? Do you enjoy doing palestric exercises in the Gym, or a cold bath on winter mornings? (See Gloogo.) Do you look forward, vorgidly, to the happy Xmastide?