Waiter, waddle on over here. Your duckfoot condition isn’t too bad. I need to discuss something with you. Now. Glad you could make it. I feared for a moment that the left one would give way and you would trip.
Now, Waiter, the issue is this juice. Here. Sip it. Yes. I said take a sip of my juice. Don’t look so confused.
Sip. Oxford says “drink (something) by taking small mouthfuls” but if you prefer Webster, that says “A small draught taken with the lips; a slight taste”. Both point you in the same direction. Imbibe a quantity of the contents of this glass. There you go.
Now do you notice something? I know I should speak only for myself, because I don’t know you that well, but I think it is reasonable to assume that neither one of us has ever licked the bottom of the drains leading out of UWEC.
And yet after sipping that juice, don’t you feel confident that you know what such an experience would feel like?
Waiter, I asked for juice. How you managed instead to construe that as a request for something that is so accurately redolent of zoo effluence I don’t know, but clearly, this deed needs to be undone. What shall we do to resolve the problem you have caused? Don’t look hopeful—me drinking this swill is not an option in play.
This is what you should do.
Ideally I should like you to take this glass, smash it against the floor and then use one of the jagged pieces to slit your wrists, but we have already seen how good you are at following instructions. I asked you to bring me juice, and you brought me a glass of sweat. Clearly you can’t be trusted to do what you are told. So let me just offer a general suggestion, hopefully if the target is large enough you will hit something.
Let’s try you going in there and returning with something vaguely palatable that has some quantity of fructose involved. That is your task. Please apply yourself. I know it’s hard for a person with such difficult feet to walk and think at the same time, but let’s try.