March 27, 2012
My father was an unrepentant ptarmigan, my mother a card-carrying bat. Raised in a snowbound cave, I naturally craved justice, and found none. Therefore, it, and when I say it I mean the local death pig, behooved me. Behooved, I made my way into the world of crime via baking. I discovered soon enough that the road to Hell is paved with pie. So yes, I drove the sleigh. I melted my way into the vault. I stole your precious document. And I’d do it again, I tell you. HA HA HA! I fully and completely writhe in sweet victory while telling you I did it. What grain of regret I felt was washed away in the subsequent fashion show. But that’s neither here nor there, for when there is here, here is there. I’m insane, you say. Really? Oh, really? Well, maybe a little. But why am I turning myself in now after such a long time spent free and clear representing cowboys? I don’t know. Perhaps, in a way, I’m really turning myself out, not in. Perhaps I am a dream or a breadbox. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been elected to Congress.
March 26, 2012
He’s that globe looking cactus dealie at the lower right. His name, 6fge5i8jn5tfe3, translates to Ron in English. And yes, your eyes deceive you not. Those are tribbles at the lower left. Maintained by the triffids in suspended animation, they have been hauled here to be reanimated and released when the actual triffid world dominance takeover begins. It might surprise you to know that the Royal Bodyguardians are not the formidable looking cacti in the photo, but cunningly enough are those little yellow blossoms. Go ahead. Try kicking the Crown Prince and see what happens. Better yet, refrain. I’m sure you’d rather not become a viscous semi-liquid lifeless mass. Or maybe you would. It takes all kinds, I suppose. Anyhoo, Crown Prince Ron of the Triffid Empire. There he is.
March 25, 2012
6
19
43
2
7
All other ages are useless.
March 24, 2012
George passed through the ocean with the silent dignity of a torpedo.
That George, ladies and gentlemen, is clearly one very fine swimmer in a story written 100 (+ or – 2) years ago.
March 23, 2012
Scene – Curtain up reveals ready room of Admiral’s flagship. The Admiral, a grim visaged chipmunk, is seated. Facing him, standing stiff at attention is as fine a chipmunk as ever sailed the seven seas.
Admiral: At ease, Captain. Report.
Captain: Yes, sir. She’s almost ready.
Admiral: Almost isn’t good enough, Captain. You must have her navigating the tide pool by tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. Is that understood?
Captain: Yes, sir.
Admiral: Now what’s the hold up?
Captain: The camels were reluctant, sir.
Admirals: Camels reluctant? Camels reluctant? In what way, my dear Captain, were the camels reluctant?
Captain: It was a bit tricky to get them to give up their flodge, sir. But we’ve got it now, and I can have her disguised and underway within the hour. We’ll be patrolling the tide pool well before 0800.
Admiral: Very well, be sure that you make it so. I don’t have to tell you how important this mission is.
Captain: You don’t?
Admiral: No, I don’t. But I will say if you don’t bring that sub back undamaged, you’ll have more to worry about than reluctant flodge camels.
Captain (saluting smartly): Yes, sir!
Curtain
March 21, 2012
The loon haf at long laft adjufted to reading from thif tome. No longer confufed, he’f now fat and faffy.
March 20, 2012
While crawling through his woodsy hillside habitat, the loon encountered this particular gush of a stream. Thus begineth the reign of Spring with a clever dousing of liquid rain. A rain of solids would have been most depressing, if not fatal. Therefore, huzzah!
March 19, 2012
Salvation Sal divided the chocolate bar into 8 individual squares. Burrowed deep in the straw with her turkey, she consumed the gleaming squares of lovely delight ever so slowly. Outside, the rain beat a merry tune on the upturned visage of Salvation Al, Sal’s evil twin.
“Where be ye, woman?” called Al, and he entered the contest to name the barn.
“She’s not here,” replied the turkey, knitting her brow and a cardigan.
“Fair enough,” said Al, retreating to Moscow.
Salvation Sal grinned a happy smile of regret, for you see, she had finished the last of the chocolates. Humming a Mayan tune, she rose into the sky and disappeared behind the moon, self banishing herself for certain secret trespasses she had undertaken while giddy.
Right here at this point in the story, the men in white coats with the straightjacket came and took the storyteller away. There were quite a few sighs of relief in the neighborhood, I can tell you.
March 18, 2012
The Grand Majestic Triffid High Queen in all her glory blessed the loon with a stealth visit recently. By rigid law no photo of the Queen’s visage is allowed, and so yea verily this capture of the Queen’s beautifully barbed abdomen as she stands in the midst of her favorite toadies will have to do. The Queen is on Earth scouting locations for possible Realm Castles to be constructed after the triffid takeover. With the Queen on planet, takeover could happen sooner than later. Take care and prepare.
