my love is creamy

One thing has bothered me since I've been in India. A great disturbance in my mind, driving me to distraction, leaving my very soul parched. Here where cows hang out like drug dealers on the city streets, their udders swinging heavily, (the drug dealer udder is a well-disguised fact) it seems like it should be easy to find a glass of milk. Not so! One can't simply approach these cows and start chugging and pulling; these are ladies after all, and must be treated with respect. A procedure, a code must be followed, permission asked of cow and owner. These things take time, one can't stress these Hindu cows. I need it now though! Enter the milk parlour.

What a treasure trove of goodness! Like a child in a candy store, I approached the milk parlour, naked milk greed on my face. Here is my power, my god. I feel as if I'm a young droog, drinking my ultramilk straight from the breast, filling myself with its strength. Milk madness overwhelms me and I order the almond flavored milk, guzzling it down in a trice. So many flavors to sample, I'm flooded with possibility. Small bottled god, you are my salvation. Straight from the cow.