“More courtly than sagacious, the lemmings of Fon du Lac often distribute clan-themed blueberry muffins to indigent cormorants,” replied the loon when asked if he knew the way to the train station.
When choosing a fort, three things must be kept in mind:
1. location – You wouldn’t want your fort to be in the middle of a street, for example, nor would you want it built horizontally out of the face of a cliff. Beneath a crag is good.
2. size – A fort the size of a thimble or a walnut would be of absolutely no use to you, I think I can say without fear of contradiction. Although a fort the size of a vehicle, say a 1949 Nash Rambler, would be adequate for shelter, there really wouldn’t be enough room for your minions, and it goes without saying that minions require space. I’d recommend choosing a fort that could host comfortably a Roman legion of bakers.
3. walls – Crenelated or smooth? High or low? Fat or thin? As to height, the walls should be high enough to remove all possibility of your enemies simply stepping over them. They should also be of a thickness and strength not susceptible to breaking when lightly tapped. As for crenelated or smooth, it’s simply a matter of taste. Those who select crenelated have taste. Those that don’t are vile.
Once upon a time there was a woodcarver who went by the name of Strangler Pete. His real name was Deborah LaMaze. Anyway, to get to the thing about him, he was positively obsessed with Babe Ruth. Every piece he carved had the face of Babe Ruth. Carved elephant? Face of Babe Ruth. Carved elk? Face of Babe Ruth. This particular carving of a Native American with the face of Babe Ruth may be found on a sidewalk in the town of San Carlos, where Strangler Pete met his doom, Phil Sessions.
An exceedingly seedy young seed
was determined to learn how to read
She started with Joyce, an unusual choice
for a seedy or unseedy seed
*Limb ricks are featured in RAKARA, due out Tuesday from Wild Child Publishing.
High-shouldered to a degree little short of malformation, slender and adroit of limb and frame, his eyes close-set and the colour of dried blood, he is climbing the spiral staircase of the soul of Gormenghast, bound for some pinnacle of the itching fancy – some wild, invulnerable eyrie best known to himself, where he can watch the world spread out below him, and shake exultantly his clotted wings.
Steerpike, one of the great villains in all of literature. I mean, clotted wings! Eyes the colour of dried blood!
“Frankly, Mother, I’d prefer not to hear about the time you went skinny-dipping with Fatty Chalfont.”
The Great Gunsby
The Young Man and the Sea
David Tinfield
The Maltese Hawk
The Sound and the Furry
This is an image captured from the documentary film, ‘Young Ents in Training’. Here the young ents are running the hill. They do twenty reps, up hard, down easy, before moving on to leaping practice.
Because what better way to celebrate France
Because what better way to fashion a makeshift garment
Because what better way to hide in plain sight
And so, let it be said, “Thus commenteth the loon.”
The pleasant kangaroo hopped to the assistance of a fallen wombat. In gratitude, the wombat donated an undisclosed sum to The Happy Walrus Foundation, which funneled the money into contraband krill. On learning of this development, the pleasant kangaroo smiled enigmatically and played an Aussie lament on her slide trombone. An ostrich was later found drowned.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
