Death, be not a hamster
Life, be not a spoon
Love, be not a carpet tack
lost upon the moon
Death, bring lots of jellybeans
Life, bring lots of coal
Love, bring lots of fuzzy beads
to tempt the wily mole
Loon: You could have knocked me over with a crowbar when the Lords of the 4th Dimension informed me that today’s guest for the 3 Question Interview was to be Superman. And sure enough, he’s here. I didn’t even know he was dead. Superman, why are you dead?
Superman’s ghost: Everybody dies. I died. Get over it.
Loon: I’m over it. I don’t even care that much. The only comic books I read starred Little Lulu. She’s probably dead, too. Do you know her?
Superman’s ghost: Yeah, I know her. We dated some back in the day.
Loon: You seem different than the way you talk in movies. Are you different from the way you talk in movies?
Superman’s ghost: It’s called acting. Look it up.
(Superman’s ghost stalks off, pointedly not flying. Loon sits on the couch, picks up a glossy magazine from the end table, and begins idly flipping through its pages.)
Lillian, deep down inside, thought her sister Dorothy’s urn was just a little better than her own.
Caught in the comfort of an emotional moment with her favorite urn, Lillian is giving the side-eye to:
a. a braying door-to-door salesman extolling the virtues of the amazing whisk broom.
b. a chocolate cake set there solely to interrupt her concentration.
c. some dead bodies.
d. her sister Dorothy’s favorite urn.
The drone hovered above the surface of Sloon, a planet teeming with triffid life, and sent back remarkable images of the sentient regal viscous lavender meander seconds before fibrous multi-mouthed rapidly deploying stems of destruction shot from the meander and consumed the drone.
There once was an ignorant ass
without a scintilla of class.
His eyes were quite pigly.
Was he dumb? Oh yes, bigly,
like a bloated balloon filled with gas.
Loon: The Lords of the 4th Dimension are on vacation and failed to deliver a ghost to submit to the 3 Question Interview. Relying on my own integrity, I was forced to search for any ghost whatsoever and found this one, Philomena Plant, hiding in a crevice in the attic. Without further ado, Philomena, what is the main benefit in being a ghost?
Philomena Plant’s ghost: Sandwiches.
Loon: Sandwiches?
Philomena Plant’s ghost: Yes.
Loon: Why?
Philomena Plant’s ghost: Why not?
(Loon furrows brow. Philomena Plant drifts back to the attic crevice.)
Euphonia Gasp stormed into the witch’s cottage and flung a worn out shoe against the wall. Then she flung another worn out shoe against the other wall. The witch glanced up from her sewing and smiled.
‘I take it you haven’t succeeded in finding White Mountain,’ said the witch.
‘No. There’s no such thing. You lied. I found Pink Mountain, Blue Mountain, even Yellow And Black Striped Mountain. You lied. The White Mountain treasure does not exist. You lied, you liar,’ said Euphonia Gasp.
Fortunately for Euphonia, the witch was amused, and in her eyes the merriest of twinkles danced.
‘Tut, tut, tut, my dear,’ said the witch. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I will repair your shoes and give you a hint.’
So saying, the witch waved her right hand, the one holding needle and thread, in a complicated pattern as if she was leading an orchestra into battle. The flung worn out shoes leaped fully repaired to Euphonia and bounced off her stomach.
‘Oof,’ said Euphonia, and she stepped into the newly lovely shoes. ‘What’s the hint?’
‘Treasure is found when least you look. Bind your fortune to a long lost book,’ said the witch.
‘That’s it. That’s the clue?’ said Euphonia, and she barely suppressed the urge to remove and fling her shoes. Instead, she turned and left the cottage, muttering, ‘Long lost book, long lost book.’
‘Wow. She fell for it again. I can’t believe it,’ said the witch’s cat, sliding out from behind the sewing basket. ‘Why do you keep torturing her year after year?’
‘I’m a witch. It’s what I do,’ said the witch, and she hummed a happy tune as she returned to her sewing.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
