It's Tampini Time

Less than 10 days ago, I was in Paris, France. High atop the legendary Montemarte. And taking in the incredible artwork of Salvador Dali.

As you may or may not know, Dali was fond of bending clocks, the symbolism of eggs and elephants, and anything pertaining to the emergence of quantum physics and the growing influence of science in the 20th century.

He was a master of surrealism.

But make no mistake, Senior Salvador has in no way cornered that market. Because this week, upon my return to work and a subsequent chat with the always well-informed Carolyn Casey, I discovered our own homegrown surrealism.

It's the tampini.
(Apparently wordcorrect is having as hard a time with this word as I am with the whole concept.)

Think of the the Tampini as the more refined cousin of the butt chug.

You may remember butt chugging. This is when college frat boys run an enema-like funnel into a new recruit's derrierre and then quickly pump it full of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Bypassing the liver and the kidneys, this apparently increases the speed with which alcohol is absorbed into the system and thus producing a very fast, though potentially fatal, buzz.

The same science is at work with the Tampini, where a tampon is soaked in vodka and placed directly into an orifice located below the belt line. And because no vodka actually passes over the taste buds, one can assume that even the cheapest rot-gut swill distilled from moldy Polish potatoes will do.

Ketel One, no thank you, not when there's Safeway's Select Brand Vodka, conveniently, and poetically, located on the bottom shelf.

I get an eclectic crowd here at roundseventeen and I know I've piqued the curiosity of more than one of you. But if you're tempted to knock back a few Tampini's, I have one simple nugget of advice: you might want to skip the olives.