oregano

OREGANO...

A MANGLED MAXIMUS TALE OF WOE

It was wheat. Always it was wheat...when what he really wanted was oregano.

He wished they wouldn't line up like that every time he had to ride somewhere. It had been a

full week since the last time he'd gotten lost on the way to gather oregano.

The last sack of oregano had been spilled in battle. He was...appalled! The sauce! By the gods,

what would become of the sauce!!!

"You know," he said meaningfully to Quintus, "they will not fight so well on low rations of oregano."

"No," he offered, "not nearly enough oregano. Not nearly."

"LISTEN!" he shouted to the younger cooks. "Without oregano the Empire will fall.

GO! FIND some... find me some NOW!"

There were a few scattered bits of oregano on the mud. Perhaps he could save them.

"Once again, Maximus," the old Emperor chortled, "you have done it. What can I offer

Rome's greatest chef?"

Ah, good! The sauce was ready. If only he could remember where he'd left his spoon.

"It was pretty good," he mused later that evening, thinking how the crushed pine cones had actually

worked rather well as an oregano substitute.

"I enjoyed dinner," Commodus whispered, "but don't you think the sauce needed more oregano?"

When he'd reluctantly agreed to be the cake topper for Proximo's birthday, he hadn't realized all

the confectioner's sugar that would be involved.

Actually, his new job as Proximo's baker wasn't all that hard, he mused, preparing to

toss the pizza dough.

"No, no, NO!" cried Commodus, entirely exasperated that he was now forced to come out himself.

"TWO lines, facing one another!" Sheesh! Was the Virginia Reel THAT hard to master?

He sighed. No matter how many times he rearranged the walnuts with that broken piece of arrow he'd picked

up in the arena, there just never would be enough of them to feed 5,000 men. Perhaps if he stretched the supply

with some...oregano? Maybe then they wouldn't notice? Especially the ones that were cleaved. They tended to

notice such things a lot less.

"Needs more oregano," he said...again.

"Has he used oregano?" the General wondered as his name was called for lunch. He

had found, much to his sorrow, that those who cooked for slaves seldom used a

sufficient amount.

"It probably needs more oregano, " he sighed.

A sudden anger rose up his core. Puffy was dead. Probably due to a severe oregano insufficiency.

"Do YOU think it needs more oregano?"

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