yet."
"Dead strength of a dead thing. I have come to claim you, as is my right by ancient laws. There is no power strong enough to save you from my claim.” And Death stepped forwards, his hand stretched out towards the Snorklepine. “Your time here is ended. Come with me."
* * * *
The next morning, the Snorklepine failed to show up for his customary breakfast of kippers and toast. Mrs. Harvey went to his room to investigate, and found him hard at work sweeping up a large pile of ashes. He apologized profusely for the mess, enigmatically saying that there had been some trouble with his pipe. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, he asked, might he be able to enjoy a somewhat later than usual breakfast?
Although she agreed readily, she was quite curious about the lump of what appeared to be gold and white marble, indissolubly fused together at the center of the ashpile.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Dear Aunt Gwenda
The Brevity is the Soul of Something, Suddenly Referring to Self in Third Person Edition
Dear Aunt Gwenda,
What do you do when your significant other loves a book (let's call it Sparkly Vampires ) that you can't stand?
Thank you.
A Reader.
AG: Well, first off, you're to be commended on your excellent taste— Sparkly Vampires sucked . (No, that wasn't a pun. Aunt Gwenda doesn't do puns.) As I see it there are three options. One, find a nice nonreader and hook up with them. Two, forbid your significant other with the bad taste from ever expressing an opinion on a book without running it by you first. Third, and this is what I recommend, chain your significant other to the bed and strictly control his or her access to books. They can't like what they can't read.
Dear Aunt Gwenda,
On his thirtieth birthday, a friend of mine received a gift of surveillance equipment from his neighbor. This neighbor has surveillance equipment of his own, and watches their street on television screens in his basement. My friend doesn't want to install his new surveillance equipment, but he's worried his neighbor will find out if he doesn't. Is there a polite way out of this one?
Sincerely,
B.B.
AG: Move.
Dear Aunt Gwenda,
I've eaten all the orange, green, and yellow jelly beans, and only the pink and white ones are left. Should I force them down or just throw them away? And why won't the jelly bean manufacturers stop making them?
AG: Jelly bean manufacturers are actually a little-known arm of the government. Where do you think the mind control comes from? Oh wait, if you're eating that many jelly beans, you probably can't think anymore. Don't worry your pretty little sugar-rushed head about it.
Dear Aunt Gwenda,
Should just everyone and anyone get dogs or just the few and proud? How do people know if they are ready for such responsibility?
AG: Everyone and anyone should definitely not get dogs. Do not get a dog if you: travel to outer space frequently; like the taste of dog meat in the morning; are often overcome with sloth; have an irrational fear of dogs; expect people around you to follow your commands without treats; or you're a cat person. How do you know if you're ready for the responsibility? Grow up, babyface. If you have to ask, that dog will own you .
Dear Aunt Gwenda,
I used to want to be a pirate, but now everybody wants to be a pirate, and if we're all pirates then we'll have no one to pirate, due to the restrictions of the pirate's code. I've tried developing other fantasies, but when I fall asleep I still smell rum and hear the shivering of timber. What course should I set here?
Sincerely,
Barbara Rossa
AG: For awhile we were all busy being zombies, and I believe that just as that gave way to the pirate craze, arrgh matey will eventually give way to a unicorn craze. Don't we all just want a big old horn coming out of our forehead, glossy white flanks and a magical land to gallop through? All of us except you and your bad grammar dreams apparently. I personally can't wait to see you trying to pirate