er--i lost my train of thought. must be time for my pills. mind you, not the pills you kids take these days, but real pills that have to be taken with oceans of water and a shoe-horn. why one time i was taking pills with Methuselah, in those days he went by Melvin on account of his scorn for rutabagas imported from Guatemala, and he said he remembered when pills were made from cat-hairs specially braided with burro whiskers which i thought reminded me of the old hair-lipped yella cow we kept in the back part of our cave with my twelve brothers and two sisters and i, ya understand, not the cave i had later on the side of Pompei, the one we shared with the pterodactyls and the mammoths which really aren't as ornery as they let on, unless of course they get a snoot-full of rot-gut, not the rot-gut my ole pappy used to make out of boiled yak-spleen but the cowboy boot rot-gut they cooked in the oak stumps out behind Johnson's first place, the one what got burned down on devil's night by that band of neo-nazi hair-care specialists who trafficked in impacted molars. but, the point is, er--¿what did you ask again?