LOCAL SPIDER PREPARES FOR HALLOWEEN
Hopes to Frighten Children, Capture Flies
Neighbors Cautious in Response
Derelict Blames Government
Loon: Here I am again to ask a celebrity ghost 3 questions. This time my masters from the 6th dimension have hauled before me one Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and I must say he looks a bit under the weather. Hardly surprising, I suppose, weighing the fact of his long ago demise and all. Be that as it may, Mr. Doyle … er … how in fact should I address you, with the Sir, without? I wouldn’t want to offend.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ghost: My dear fellow, call me anything but late for tea.
Loon: Ohhh Kaaay. Sir Art, does Holmes ever wear his deerstalker cap with the earflaps down?
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ghost: I dare say he would protect his ears in freezing conditions. Of course.
Loon: Earflaps down. Ha. He would look stupid. It would make more sense for Watson to wear earflaps down. Then Holmes could make a wry comment on how stupid he looks. How stupid Watson looks, I mean, not Holmes. Hey … (The ghost of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fades to nothingness) ... wait a minute. I got one more question …
But the tree next to the lunch-box tree was even more wonderful, for it bore quantities of tin dinner pails, which were so full and heavy that the stout branches bent underneath their weight.
Why this sentence from Ozma of Oz? Simply because of the gifted storyteller’s use of the word ‘for’. He loved ‘for’ and used it in this manner all throughout his books and stories, 1900 to 1920.
Well, it is the lettuce thing. Gannon always worried about Joe’s bad eating habits and tried to get him to eat more roughage. Joe was perfectly content with his usual diet of Bacon and mayo sandwiches. What can I say? Joe’s strange metabolism allowed him to thrive on an array of lard-based foods.
Joe Friday is peeved with:
a. some young punk high on goofballs.
b. Gannon because he brought Joe a sandwich with lettuce, and Joe hates lettuce. Gannon knows this and always brings him sandwiches with lettuce anyway.
c. all of the bureaucratic crap.
d. that snotty precinct commander walking by.
e. Jean Paul Sartre and all the rest of those French sissies.
Loon: So when is the great takeover going to happen?
Cyclops triffid: Wouldn’t you like to know, pathetic puny earthling?
Loon: Yes.
Cyclops triffid: Mwahaha, then I’ll give you a few warning signs to watch for. When you hear about a dense avalanche of icicles battering Solvang, when you notice the moon bursting apart into flaming shards, when the skin on your hands begins to crawl away, when all trees everywhere leap straight up into space, then you may be assured that the takeover is imminent.
Loon: What does ‘imminent’ mean?
Cyclops triffid: It means WE’RE GETTING READY TO RUMBLE!!
Loon: Oh.
Well, I activated the sasquatch cam again this morning, and this is what I got … for 15 solid minutes. I mean, what was up with the silly creature? Was it in a trance or something? Who knows? Not me. Anyway, after the 15 solid minutes, there was finally movement. The camera panned up. Yeah, big deal. Nothing. Tree top. Then it went back to staring straight ahead at the tree trunk with vines. So far this sasquatch cam thing has been a big fat zero.
She’s waiting for Halloween to demonstrate her power.
How do I know she’s a she?
She’s wearing that nice purple flower.
Loon: Today I’m really excited to have none other than William Shakespeare aboard as celebrity ghost to answer 3 questions of my own choosing. Bill, and I may call you Bill, right?
Shakespeare’s ghost: Whatever. No skin off my nose or, as a matter of fact, any other body part, if you get my drift. Go for it.
Loon: Great. Question number 2. About Queen Elizabeth’s makeup. It was pretty grotesque, wasn’t it?
Shakespeare’s ghost: Would you believe an inch thick of colored putty made from lard? Holy Cimoli! She reeked! Stank! Stinkola! Yowza, it was all like almost impossible to hold your breath long enough to survive an audience. As it was, your eyes were gonna water. Nothing you could do about that. Not a goddam thing.
Loon: So, in conclusion, were bodkins really all that odd?
Shakespeare’s ghost: Odd? You calling my bodkin odd? In what way odd? Hows about I stab you in the eye?
Loon: You can disappear now. That’s 3 questions.
Shakespeare’s ghost, muttering obscenities, evaporates.
They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession.
Yes, it’s from THAT story by the old ex-con, the one with the magi and the gift and such.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
