This is a forest trofle. Her name is Madge. She may be found in the story, Rindle Mer, written by the sane persona of the loon. When she becomes too excited, she faints. Nevertheless, she helps restore the drought-stricken Woods Beyond the Wood to green and vibrant health.
Actor: Line?
Prompter: To be or not.
Actor: To be or not … Line?
Prompter: To be.
Actor: Huh?
Prompter: To be or not to be.
Actor: Oh, yeah. To be or not to be … To be or not to be … To be … or not to be … …
Prompter: That.
Actor: That …
Prompter: Is.
Actor: Is …
Prompter: The question.
Actor: Oh, yes, of course. Let’s start again … … Line?
The last word used to describe the loon would be ‘friendly’. However, when the subject of his toaster comes up in general conversation, it is always greeted with murmurs of, “It’s so very polite and friendly like, isn’t it then?”
consider the cow
bovine lady
ranch roaming
dairy queen
consider the cow
pre-pasteurized
cream creator
hooved hamburger
consider the cow
for elected office
raise the IQ
of a lawmaking body
The timid widow eventually marries successfully.
“You’re probably bewildered as to why I’m gathered here. In short, that is to say, in summary, I put it to all of you on equal, if not harmonious, footing, that the murderer is about to be revealed by none other than me, yours truly, speak name here … Wait, sorry, I’ll go again from ‘yours truly’ … yours truly, Detective Inspector Sir Reverend Urquhar Peabody, BFD.
Firstly, concerning the sheep, I realized at once that the handwriting on the critical note could not have been forged by a ruminant, of whatever breeding and erudition, notwithstanding.
Second, the footprint in the bacon grease spread on the parlor floor was not a footprint at all, necessarily. It might have been, and in fact was, a cry for help.
Thirdly, and I cannot emphasize this, so I won’t.
Fourthly and fifth, why, you ask, am I holding a turkey leg between my knees? Am I making you nervous, MISTER ALFRED CARBUNCLE!?”
“All right! All right! I confess! I did it! Guns, ammo, cheese and everything! I can’t take any more, I tell you! I can’t! I can’t! HAHAHAHAHA!!”
The hall was decked with Buddy Holly memorabilia. The stage was bare except for a tremendous amount of clutter – rafts, pencil sharpeners, beehives, etc. The water in the orchestra pit was two feet deep. The musicians waded in and took their places. The theater was plunged into darkness. The audience erupted in wild glee when a single spotlight followed the maestro sliding down a wire from the balcony. For three hours the insanely robust applause continued unabated. And why not? The maestro conducted the entire time standing on one leg while blindfolded. The musicians wisely feigned playing. After all, no instrument could possibly be heard above the deafening racket produced by the spectators. With a final flourish the maestro flung his baton high in the air and slid back up the wire to the balcony and beyond through the wall and out into the night. The musicians waded away. The audience filed out. The stage manager locked up. Silence reigned in the hall until demonic laughter echoed above the pit water. From under a raft on the stage crept a laughing grin. Oh, how it laughed. It laughed and laughed and laughed.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
