May your heaventree of stars always hang with night blue fruit.
Fanworth’s dream was to be delicately placed in a mental institution and there to be tended by a modest number of dead-eyed strangers. To this end, wearing fiercely orange tights, he drenched himself head to toe in butter fat and sang nonsense in falsetto outside City Hall. Sure enough, he was removed from the scene and deposited for observation in Specific Hospital. He suffered only minimal damage in transit. After his broken limbs and wounds had been ignored, by and by he was sent on a garbage scow to the State Depository for the Terminally Confused. There he was gifted with a padded private cell and a box of bran. He settled in, content, his dream fulfilled.
the secret of marvin hay
will be revealed on the 3rd of may
from asking me questions refrain
i don’t want to miss my train
i’ll leave you with one final thought
what goes up must come down maybe not
Each option offered is true.
Edna Mae had:
a. a statue of Charles Dickens in her garden, at which she tossed hoops.
b. a cravat formerly belonging to Charles Dickens, which she used as a bookmark.
c. an autographed portrait of Charles Dickens perched above the samovar on her dining room table.
d. a stamp collection envied most particularly by Claudette Colbert and John Wayne.
Loon: I have the honor, privilege, and golden opportunity today to conduct the 3 question interview with the ghost of Mr. Charles Dickens, who famously wrote many famous books, so I am told. Welcome, sir, and may I begin by asking a question about your childhood?
Dickens’ ghost: You may.
Loon: I know I should probably ask about your famous stories and such. Are you sure you don’t mind me dithering on about things you’d rather not recall or not, as the case may be?
Dickens’ ghost: I would be delighted to answer any question you decide to pose.
Loon: Good. Well now, are you all ready and comfortable?
Dickens’ ghost: Most assuredly.
Loon: Unfortunately, I’ve reached my 3 question limit. Thank you for dropping by.
(Removing his head and tucking it under his arm, Dickens’ ghost somersaults through the window. The Loon wanders off and bumps into the door, forgetting to open it.)