Monday, February 27, 2017

a note fit for a postcard.

Vandulbraughten was a friggin Nazi.  He escaped into America somehow during the height of the fighting, turning coat when his country needed him most.  For shame, I say!  Loathsome creature!  Even now I remember the News Of The World footage of Hitler smacking his desk, while yelling NEIN NEIN NEIN NEIN!

Chaquita.  The muses gazes also.  What more can be said that is delicate, providential, and evidential of such a prim flower?

Crash Moody.  That was I.  That was me.  Such style, such grace.  What a man!  An example among men.  But a mouse, in a cage, building a small city out of horded cheese!  A junkyard surround for a kingdom of forgotten treasures!

Tittywick(of the Chestershire Tittywicks).  Will flee his demons, because he grows weary of good fortune and a prosperous home.  If only he could be put on an explorer's ship, as perhaps sent to the hell of the arctic.

Bern'rd.  The old grave digger lurks and drinks, still.  Though he has been fired and barred from hassling visitors to the graveyard.

Bob Beckel says he should have died a long time ago.  I have no opinion, except that I appreciate him nowadays, and if he were not alive, I would miss him. 

However:  I thought he died a year ago.

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