He maintained a strict haggis diet for several years, including those during which he penned Peter Pan.
When writing Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie would often:
a. fly out the window.
b. shout ‘Zoot alors!’ in his sleep.
c. eat nothing at all save haggis.
d. hop about on one foot while tapping himself on the head with a spoon.
e. laugh maniacally.
The sasquatch and the triffid sat in the marsh not only to wile away the hours discussing and eating their favorite vertebrates, but indeed to touch base on certain aspects of the overall invasion plan.
TRIFFID: I’m led to understand you’ll be in charge of the lake division. Pass me a rib.
SASQUATCH: Here you go. Yeah, that’s what they tell me. I figure we’ll meet up on Nevada beach and do whatever from there. You good with that? How ’bout a couple hooves to go with that rib?
TRIFFID: Thanks, but I couldn’t eat another, not even a weasel. The beach is good. We’ll bring the extra poison in sap bags.
SASQUATCH: Right. When we get the signal, we’ll bash at dawn.
TRIFFID: Dawn works for me.
SASQUATCH: Nice view, eh?
TRIFFID: The best.
It’s a tulip theme around here this year. Plenty of opportunities for tiptoeing.
Loon: Any minute now I’m expecting the arrival of the ghost of a writer called George Eliot to undertake the 3 question interview. Ah, I see shimmering. (Ghost of George Eliot materializes.) Oh, there must be some mistake. I’m waiting for a George Eliot. Who is it that you were, ma’am?
George Eliot’s ghost: George Eliot is my pen name.
Loon (looking up at ceiling): Am I supposed to interview a pen? Your pen’s name is not important. Who are you?
George Eliot’s ghost: Young man, it so happens that I called my favorite pen Etienne, but my own pen name was George Eliot.
Loon (blinking more than necessary): But if your pen’s name is Etienne, what is your name?
George Eliot’s ghost: George Eliot.
Loon (so befuddled that his legs cease functioning and he slides to the floor): But……
George Eliot’s ghost spins like a top until there’s not a wisp left of her.
The loon had to do quite a lot of quick clicking and squeaking before this Tahoe triffid believed the loon wasn’t just a woofin’ about his special relationship with the triffid empire. Fortunately for the loon, disaster was narrowly averted.
No sirree, calling Wild Bill Mr. Hiccup was that feller’s terminal mistake.
The man Wild Bill is looking at has but a brief span of time left to dwell on this world of sorrows before winging his way to eternal rest because:
a. he made sport of Bill’s hat.
b. he made sport of Bill’s abundant flow of hair.
c. he flat out insulted Bill’s mustache.
d. he wondered how a low down varmint like Bill ever came to be so lily-livered.
e. he said, ‘Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t the famous Wild Bill Hiccup hisself.’
The loon has arranged some of his books thusly so.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
