Toe Lint and Tomatoes

"The way I see it, they're a curse from the old gods."

"Who is?" asked The Dog.

"Not who," I said.  "What.  And the answer is toe lint and tomatoes."

"I've never felt a need to ask before," said The Dog, "but I'm assuming you were dropped on your head as a small child."

"Think about it for a second," I said.  "In any of the old books we've read--and we've been through a lot--have you ever seen mention of toe lint?"

"Do I have to answer?" asked The Dog.

"Yes."

"Then no, I haven't."

"So!  That means it's a recent occurrence--I'm guessing the last hundred years.  And what else happened in the last hundred years?"

"People started wearing socks," said The Dog.

"The correct answer," I said, "is people forgot the old gods.  Zeus, Vishnu, Thor, all the rest.  People don't respect them anymore, the gods get mad, and bam!  Toe lint.  We need to start spilling some wine around, show some respect for the old guys.  And gals."

"Or you could do your laundry," said The Dog.  "Now, even if I accept that toe lint is a curse, how do tomatoes come in?"

"I don't like tomatoes."

"You like pizza."

"Pizza sauce barely remembers what it was like to be a tomato.  Doesn't count."

"Can't get pizza sauce without them, though."

"This," I said, "is why we start spilling lots of wine.  Make the Greek gods happy enough, they'll figure out something."

"I'm not talking to you anymore," said The Dog.

"I'll even go for pizza with white sauce."

"This conversation is over."

"You're crushed by the power of my logic," I said.

"That's right," he said.  "That's absolutely right."

--Pete