Nostradamus Coelacanth, the oldest of the fishes
Built himself a lightning boat and filled it up with dishes
Sailed it down to Birmingham to taste the local knishes
Fulfilling once and yes for all his fondest childhood wishes
This formidable maiden is Nimble Missst, famous for her snapjaw mind. Bekka’s (yowzah yowzah, purchase Bekka of Thorns at http://www.wildchildpublishing.com) 7th chronicle tells of Nimble Missst’s adventures when she sets out to find the ridiculous Blossom Prince, Zootch.
Mervis Plelmorkler contemplated snowy egrets. Completing contemplation, he practiced contortions. Contortions taken care of, he welded himself a sandwich. Lunch over, he filled out the application to legally change his name. Laying aside the pen, he muttered his newly chosen name aloud.
“Marty Prassmalleter,” he said, smiling his secret smile, the one with handlebars.
The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the ground drew him on, like the thirsty lips of death.
Well, R.D. churned out many a romance in the second half of the 19th century, but he hit the jackpot when he wrote Lorna Doone. Great story. Great characters. Great. Late 16th century southwest of England? Robber clan of Doones? 6′ 7″, 280 pound, yeoman farmer hero? What’s not to like?
“Can I have a few bites of your Nietzscheburger if I order the Gandhi diet platter?”
Yes, the loon’s refrigerator is covered with Fiddleeebodlian character sketches made by the loon’s saner persona. Yes, no loon abode is complete without a poster of Jean Harlow tastefully placed on the floor. Yes, that hard edge oil pastel there executed by the loon in his youth is entitled “Strange Window”.
That there lady is Queen Lorelei Lo of Fiddleeebod. To look at her you wouldn’t think she’d been raised in the underground lair of a river dragon, would you? Nevertheless, so be it, such was the case. She appears in the first two fantasy stories written by the loon’s saner half, long before there was a Bekka of Thorns (http://www.wildchildpublishing.com).
The skinniest toad practiced medicine when she wasn’t driving on the NASCAR circuit. But at this particular moment, seated on the upper deck of the omnibus, she was livid. The only other passenger up there had insulted the skinniest toad’s choice of footwear.
“If I was skinny and green like you, honey, I sure wouldn’t wear sequined blue and gold pumps. Damn. Are those bug eyes colorblind?” the giant squid had rudely remarked, going so far as to cover its own saucer eyes with more than a few tentacles.
“Oh, yeah! Shut up! You stink!” retorted the skinny frog, her medicinal and stock car racing skills proving to be no help at all in overcoming her lifelong lack of conversational adroitness. Also, let’s face it, blue and gold sequined pumps? The giant squid had a point, although the bug eye remark was completely uncalled for.
The greens emerge, stepping onstage to introduce the first act.
The yellows take the cue.
They tumble, juggle, and sing a peppy song.
The audience, decked out in snazzy new clothes, is thrilled.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
