novelist still mad, witnesses say

The novelist dropped the sock monkey, towered over him. “Not only have you the audacity to write the Script of our lives, you think you can find a producer? Look at us! An agglomerate of stereo-types! Unheard of novelist? Check! Vacuous poet? Check! Story-obsessed reporter? Check! Mad pirate captain complete with hook? Check! And that’s not even getting into the Wise Old Mentor!”

“There were the baboons,” protested the sock monkey . “And anthropomorphic metaphors. I thought that was rather clever.”

“You thought—”

The committee chairman bawled through his bullhorn, shattering a distant teapot. “DOES ANYONE KNOW WHY CAPTAIN SLY CANNOT BE WITH US THIS EVENING?”

There is some disagreement about what happened next…

The awkward silence had been yarking happily under the table, woffling crumbs from digestive biscuits. While it is generally known that digestive biscuits have many nutritious and healthful side effects—when part of a strenuous exercise programme and a strict high-fibre vegetarian diet—it is doubtful that they should be blamed for what happened.

The awkward silence yawned. It stood up. It ambled away into the forest, yarking happily, too look for a place to hibernate.

Each eyewitness of the extraordinary event had rather different reports.

The Press said something like this:

THE WOODS—A new record for transmogrification was broken today at Tip-Top Tea Shoppe, S. Monkey, Prop. At approximately 11:45 am, an awkward silence allegedly grew from the size of a small cushion to the size of a small gigantic mammoth in roughly .002 seconds. The awkward silence devastated half of the surrounding countryside for the next several hours, locals say. Monkey told the Press he is unsure what caused the incident, and asked if anyone knows what [edited] just happened, would they please shut up? Local officials estimate that the damages…

The poet, when asked by the Press for a statement, said this:

everwards.
i think that i got cheated in my deck
where?
how?
happily?
like the ache of seven tundra bereft
of six.
You don’t know much how
the air smells of the reeds in a forgotten winter, so just
shut up about whether
i hate my life.

In his official report of the proceedings, the Committee Chairman wrote:

The roll being complete, Mr. Silence assumed the dimensions of a medium-sized dragon, stepped on the Chairman’s Bullhorn of Office, and departed. Disciplinary action has been recommended.

The sock monkey, who faces allegations of scriptwriting, is alleged to have said:

Yes the, ah, business of Captain Sly. Looked rather like a digestive biscuit, didn’t he? Can’t help that. What did you think of the next bit? The anthropomorphisms keep taking on the characteristics of what they’re anthropomorphizing, see? So, when the [edited] with the bullhorn brings up whole what-happened-to-Captain-Sly business, the awkward silence—

The novelist, as his authorized biographer later determined from letters dating to roughly that period, said:

Oh, ah—dash.

Captain Sly could not be reached for comment.

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One thought on “novelist still mad, witnesses say

  1. Pingback: on myth « The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond

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