The return of the Chester
Short answer: No, they haven't.
Long answer: see below.
As you, the committed reader of this blognovel will recall (committed in this case for nigh on 5 years, good for you!) the last I saw of Chester was him running off happily with my entire stack of Mills and Boone first editions, in the direction of his house where he would've buried himself in his pinky binky blankey and read M&B to his hearts content. (Wearing gloves and a safety mask of course, so the first editions wouldn't get damaged.)
I guess he'd finished the books, then, because as I cheerfully and submissively sang BTMV and Trixie bellowed out orders and we all cheerfully and submissively painted her nails, made her Pina Coladas and built her a brand new butch-yet-feminine castle next to Trevor's one, I could've sworn I saw him peeping over the city wall with a pained expression on his face. And when I say pained, what I mean is the kind of expression you see on your former best friend-cum worst enemy's face when they see you enslaved by a butch manly Ana-Lucia (R.I.P) from Lost type woman, and they know they face the horrible choice of whether to save the day or run away.
Yeah, that kind of pained.
So as I cheerfully continued to apply the second coat of "Romance Rouge" to Trixie's big left toenail (it required a fair amount of cover, and Trixie was a stickler for quality, bless her heart!) I thought to myself, gosh, isn't slavery wonderful! Now, I wouldn't want Chester ruining this blissfully brainwashed state I'm in now would I? So I decided to let Trixie know.
I looked up.
I opened mouth to speak.
And a flaming arrow flew over my head and stuck straight into Trixie's right shoulder, causing her to drop the chalice of power and dive straight into the pool the elves had dug out for her and the elephants were currently filling, in order to douse the flames.
Suddenly I was back in a right frame of mind again!
"TRIXIE!!" I cried, angry at her trickery.
But who had fired the arrow?
Where had the chalice been thrown?
What had Chester done with my first editions?
And was that a stain on my new shirt?
All questions for the other author to consider.
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Long answer: see below.
As you, the committed reader of this blognovel will recall (committed in this case for nigh on 5 years, good for you!) the last I saw of Chester was him running off happily with my entire stack of Mills and Boone first editions, in the direction of his house where he would've buried himself in his pinky binky blankey and read M&B to his hearts content. (Wearing gloves and a safety mask of course, so the first editions wouldn't get damaged.)
I guess he'd finished the books, then, because as I cheerfully and submissively sang BTMV and Trixie bellowed out orders and we all cheerfully and submissively painted her nails, made her Pina Coladas and built her a brand new butch-yet-feminine castle next to Trevor's one, I could've sworn I saw him peeping over the city wall with a pained expression on his face. And when I say pained, what I mean is the kind of expression you see on your former best friend-cum worst enemy's face when they see you enslaved by a butch manly Ana-Lucia (R.I.P) from Lost type woman, and they know they face the horrible choice of whether to save the day or run away.
Yeah, that kind of pained.
So as I cheerfully continued to apply the second coat of "Romance Rouge" to Trixie's big left toenail (it required a fair amount of cover, and Trixie was a stickler for quality, bless her heart!) I thought to myself, gosh, isn't slavery wonderful! Now, I wouldn't want Chester ruining this blissfully brainwashed state I'm in now would I? So I decided to let Trixie know.
I looked up.
I opened mouth to speak.
And a flaming arrow flew over my head and stuck straight into Trixie's right shoulder, causing her to drop the chalice of power and dive straight into the pool the elves had dug out for her and the elephants were currently filling, in order to douse the flames.
Suddenly I was back in a right frame of mind again!
"TRIXIE!!" I cried, angry at her trickery.
But who had fired the arrow?
Where had the chalice been thrown?
What had Chester done with my first editions?
And was that a stain on my new shirt?
All questions for the other author to consider.
previous {} next
posted by Musings | 11:06 PM
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