Sam was in the highest possible feather, and expressed his exultation by all sorts of supernatural howls and ejaculations, by divers odd motions and contortions of his whole system.
Now there’s a sentence to cause one to reel backward for a moment and take inventory.
Although Charlotte Bronte couldn’t imagine such a thing, you can bet your most precious gelding that Emily could.
Brigid O’Shaughnessy, in this David Eccles cover illustration of the Folio edition of The Maltese Falcon, represents:
a. Teamsters Local 286
b. the mesmerizing power of the Giant Mesmerizing Falcon.
c. a way to dress when appearing before Congress.
d. a way of life undreamed of by Charlotte Bronte.
This is the loon’s 1000th post. Oh, how he fretted. Oh, how he laughed his high laugh of confusion, despair and outright insanity. Then, a glimmer of a gleam of a spark of a hope scraped his right elbow, causing him to throw his head back against a large cast iron pheasant. Thus, it was revealed unto him that the 1000th post was nothing, a trifle, a smidgen of tar remnant on an otherwise white waistcoat. The post following the 1000th is the important one. Why? Simply because of the following question posed by the loon:
What will I post post post 1000?
SKY PUPPIES!!
a single cloud scudding
_____flock of sheep___sheepdog_________shepherd about to have his day ruined
And so I put it to you, Reverend Mother, that not only were you aware of the locations of both cows and the tiara, but you were instrumental, nay, willingly crucial in the deployment of the harvesting equipment. Furthermore, it remains an undeniable, irrefutable fact that the damning beaded purse was found in your personal treasure chest along with various and sundry relics stolen from the Caves of the Moon in the Desert of the Sun on the Plains of Rainy Spain. Lastly, and by no means leastly, your footprints were found trailing off in drunken wobble from the den of iniquity otherwise known as the Piltdown Toy Factory and Dental College, a notorious drinking haven for unrepentant scholars of unseemly stripe. Reverend Mother, I say in all humility and compassion, you are vile, disgusting and not worth a wooden slat torn from a poorly made set of Venetian blinds.
I hate horses is true.
First sentence of JC, a future publication from Livingston Press.
Well, the story of how Virginia left her suitcase on top of a cactus in the Mojave Desert is too complicated to go into here. Let’s just say it involved a herd of buffalo, a train, and a first edition of The Great Gatsby.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
