This is Frad, a nester musician of Blossom Castle. He helps solve the random rain riddles in the mysterious story of Dosh, the hutkeeper.
“Well, my dear, the night is young, and we’re alone. What’s on the tube?”
If these trees weren’t in the way, you could see the forest.
“Sow wheat in the fields where my sow used to roam,” decreed the King after he wound the bandage around his arm wound.
“Yes, sire,” said the lackey.
“Bow when you address me, and hand me that bow,” snarled the King.
“Yes, sire,” said the lackey, bowing.
“Sire?” said the jester, bowing his viola da gamba.
“What is it?” asked the King.
“The damsels have arrived to wind the clock,” said the jester.
“Excellent. Have them do it right away before the wind picks up. We’re in for some weather, I’m thinking. And one more thing. That pile of refuse over there?”
“Sire?”
“I refuse to look at it for another instant! Clean it up! Now!”
Laurel and Hardy were:
a. a microcosm of despair.
b. a macrocosm of despair.
c. a microcosm of a macrocosm.
d. despair.
e. funny.
Beef Under Fire
50 beeves
8 cannons
plenty of ammo
Dig a trench 100 yards long. Herd beeves into same. Array all 8 cannons in a line 1/2 mile distant from trench. Load and discharge cannons. Repeat until ammo is consumed. Take your favorite spoon across no man’s land and dig in.
The loon abides alone in this modest retreat, the smaller of the two he owns. He reserves the larger one to house his collection of 2 billion pez dispensers. He built both structures with his own two hands and the hands of ten thousand construction workers imported from all the countries in the world beginning with the letter B.
The coxcomb was fit to be tied. After the fitting, he was free for the rest of the afternoon. He wandered the streets, gazing into various shop windows and dreaming of unprecedented fame. Urchins assaulted him verbally many times, physically twice. Finally, he repaired to his favorite fish shop for a bite to eat.
“What’ll it be, CC? The usual?” asked the proprietor, freeing himself with some difficulty from the hammerlock of his burly wench wife.
“A single sardine, Jean Pierre. I was fitted earlier and mustn’t gain weight,” said the coxcomb.
“To be tied?” queried the host, kicking at his helpmate, who was intent on burying her teeth in his ankle.
“True,” confirmed the coxcomb, bobbing his head and smiling proudly.
“Well, good luck to you,” offered the shopowner, handing a sardine to the coxcomb while fending off a knife attack from the mother of his children.
The coxcomb bowed away after consuming the sardine and reported to the fortress at 6 o’clock sharp. There he was tied.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
