I'll make sure to post a gratuitously long summary of my Japan trip, but the time for that isn't now
In the meantime... MY THIRD LJ CUT! USELESS!!
It was a lovely spring day on Wisteria Lane, for the temperature outside was welcoming and there was not a cloud in the sky. The dogwoods lining the road were just beginning to blossom and their scent could be experienced by anyone who so much as opened a window near the front of his house. It was a day on which those with allergies stayed home and those without them embarked upon quests of great proportions. Not only that, but it was an ideal day to make cookies. Lady Petunia was making cookies this bonnie day and found, to her astonishment, that she had run out of sugar. Cookies are simply never any good if sugar is not used to make them, which is why the Lady Petunia summoned her only son, Sir Billy, to embark on a quest of great proportions.
“Dear Billy, a bleak era is upon us,” Lady Petunia told Sir Billy as she smoothed his hair and checked his fly, “for I have run out of sugar.”
Sir Billy could only gasp. He was well aware of a certain rudimentary relationship between sugar and the fantastic deserts that his mother whipped up. He was not aware, however, that his mother used most of her fantastic deserts not for her own satisfaction, but to satisfy one half of a deal between herself and a mad scientist plotting to release oceans of toxic waste into the world’s actual oceans if not bribed with delicious cookies.
“Yes,” Lady Petunia sighed worriedly, “it is truly a desperate time. I am in grave need of your aid, brave Sir Knight. I fear I must ask you to embark on a perilous journey of great proportions.”
Sir Billy could only gulp, nod, and accept fate. It was his menial, only-sonly duty to accommodate his only mother and her love of the ocean.
“Now sweetheart, I am going to entrust to you an instrument of great power,” Lady Petunia told Sir Billy. “It is called an inhaler. A tense situation may arise during the course of your quest of great proportions in which you will have to face outer or inner obstacles for which I want you to be prepared. Please, take it.”
Sir Billy felt both astounded and honored as he was given the fine instrument. Never before had he been graced with possession of the magic inhaler. It was a tool only to be used by Lady Petunia when he became exasperated about his home-schooling or the imposing nature of toilets.
Lady Petunia smiled proudly as her only son carefully placed the magic inhaler in the left pocket of his trousers. She had raised a tidy lad.
“Popkin, here is your mission,” Lady Petunia began. “You must first exit this house and then proceed onwards to the sidewalk, at which point you will be faced with THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [a wolf howls in the distance]. This ground must be traversed. Mind that peril lurks in every corner of THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [a window breaks and the smell of dogwoods becomes noticeable], darling. The only way to master THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [a small girl outside screams for no apparent reason] is to look both ways to affirm that it is clear. Though you may become frightened, do not run. Vicious creatures called automobiles can smell fear and will not stop for fallen travelers [Sir Billy grabs his left pocket for reassurance]. After you cross THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [insert scary noise here; my creativity is dwindling], you must approach the home of Mrs. Gerber. You remember her, don’t you? She brought meatloaf to your father’s funeral... don’t talk to strangers…no need for your rubbers…”
Forty minutes later, the valiant Sir Billy found himself at the foot of the stairs leading up to Mrs. Gerber’s ominous front door. He had conquered THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH, but he had yet to face the greatest terror of all. Speaking to Mrs. Gerber was not a simple proposition. The old woman was, from what Sir Billy could recall from glimpsing her from behind his mother, the effigy of archetypal scary aged people. She fulfilled every requirement of the role, including having a wart on her aquiline nose, a distinct disparity between the sizes of her eyeballs, mounds of cats, and a lawn forbidden to visitors. As Sir Billy glanced nervously at Mrs. Gerber’s front stairs, he feared that the cracked paint on them might break off of its own will and come at him in a multitude of tiny pieces to throw him into the old hag’s lawn, at which point Mrs. Gerber would fly out of the chimney, pitchfork in hand, and pierce him through the heart to roast him over a hot fire. He placed a hand on his left pocket for confidence and began to climb the stairs, every one of which emitted the most awful of creaks under even the mildest of pressure. He reached the front door and took a deep breath, but before he could ring the doorbell, the door opened, revealing the terrifying Mrs. Gerber.
“Yes?” the lofty old woman exposed several gold teeth. “Don’t be startled, boy; my stairs are so loud they function as a doorbell. Haw! Now what might I do for you?”
Sir Billy could only tremble. Mrs. Gerber was far taller than he remembered. If only he had Lady Petunia’s apron to hide behind. He began to feel a clenching in his chest.
“H-h-half…sherbet,” he began, but could proceed no further. Mrs. Gerber was towering over him, her looming figure elongating into the distorted form of a narrow, cackling witch. His alveoli screamed for oxygen, yet his bronchioles yielded no air. Mrs. Gerber lifted an eyebrow, making her already seemingly larger eyeball appear even more enormous. Sir Billy went into a panic (oh, it’s not as dramatic as it seems).
Yet hark! Had he not the mystical inhaler? He had. He took it out of his pocket, put it to his lips, and inhaled the magic freshness, relaxing his straining bronchioles. He was free of the tension. What a truly wondrous instrument.
“My mother would like to borrow a half-cup of sugar,” Billy clarified, “if that wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.”
“Why, sure,” Mrs. Gerber shrugged and disappeared into her house, only to reappear seconds later with a half-cup of sugar. “Here you go, little fellow. Don’t worry about bringing me any back, by the way…”
Sir Billy received the holy half-cup of sugar with the greatest of appreciation. He thanked Mrs. Gerber sincerely (she seemed so much less frightening, all of a sudden) and turned around to begin the journey home. Oh, what a tasty afternoon this accomplishment ensured! He was so delighted with his success, however, that he neglected to look to both ends of THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH before crossing it! Fortunately for the valiant Sir Billy, his eyesight may have been less than favorable, but his hearing was quite keen. He realized, partway through his traversal of THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH that something terribly vicious and maniacal was approaching him. Could it be that an automobile was pursuing him? He turned to see a vast, voluble creature headed in his direction. A panic took him.
Yet hark! Had he not the mystical inhaler? He had. He reached into his pocket, retrieved the sacred tool, and hurled it at the creature with all of his valiant strength. Perhaps the vile automobile had suffered a similar ailment as Sir Billy; able to hear but not to see.
Mr. Noth was not watching the road. Mr. Noth was telling a subordinate that he was a flawed device.
“You’re a flawed device, Simmons, flawed, I say! You’re a complete - Oh my God!”
The automobile creature screeched to a halt. Evidently, the “clink” the magic inhaler had made upon coming in contact with the beast had disoriented it. Sir Billy, beaming with pride, continued to cross THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH. He was truly in possession of a wondrous instrument.
That evening, there was much rejoicing. Lady Petunia and Sir Billy indulged in an awesome cookie tasting session of great proportions, toxic waste remained at bay, and the world was at peace (well, mostly). The end.
It was a lovely spring day on Wisteria Lane, for the temperature outside was welcoming and there was not a cloud in the sky. The dogwoods lining the road were just beginning to blossom and their scent could be experienced by anyone who so much as opened a window near the front of his house. It was a day on which those with allergies stayed home and those without them embarked upon quests of great proportions. Not only that, but it was an ideal day to make cookies. Lady Petunia was making cookies this bonnie day and found, to her astonishment, that she had run out of sugar. Cookies are simply never any good if sugar is not used to make them, which is why the Lady Petunia summoned her only son, Sir Billy, to embark on a quest of great proportions.
“Dear Billy, a bleak era is upon us,” Lady Petunia told Sir Billy as she smoothed his hair and checked his fly, “for I have run out of sugar.”
Sir Billy could only gasp. He was well aware of a certain rudimentary relationship between sugar and the fantastic deserts that his mother whipped up. He was not aware, however, that his mother used most of her fantastic deserts not for her own satisfaction, but to satisfy one half of a deal between herself and a mad scientist plotting to release oceans of toxic waste into the world’s actual oceans if not bribed with delicious cookies.
“Yes,” Lady Petunia sighed worriedly, “it is truly a desperate time. I am in grave need of your aid, brave Sir Knight. I fear I must ask you to embark on a perilous journey of great proportions.”
Sir Billy could only gulp, nod, and accept fate. It was his menial, only-sonly duty to accommodate his only mother and her love of the ocean.
“Now sweetheart, I am going to entrust to you an instrument of great power,” Lady Petunia told Sir Billy. “It is called an inhaler. A tense situation may arise during the course of your quest of great proportions in which you will have to face outer or inner obstacles for which I want you to be prepared. Please, take it.”
Sir Billy felt both astounded and honored as he was given the fine instrument. Never before had he been graced with possession of the magic inhaler. It was a tool only to be used by Lady Petunia when he became exasperated about his home-schooling or the imposing nature of toilets.
Lady Petunia smiled proudly as her only son carefully placed the magic inhaler in the left pocket of his trousers. She had raised a tidy lad.
“Popkin, here is your mission,” Lady Petunia began. “You must first exit this house and then proceed onwards to the sidewalk, at which point you will be faced with THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [a wolf howls in the distance]. This ground must be traversed. Mind that peril lurks in every corner of THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [a window breaks and the smell of dogwoods becomes noticeable], darling. The only way to master THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [a small girl outside screams for no apparent reason] is to look both ways to affirm that it is clear. Though you may become frightened, do not run. Vicious creatures called automobiles can smell fear and will not stop for fallen travelers [Sir Billy grabs his left pocket for reassurance]. After you cross THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH [insert scary noise here; my creativity is dwindling], you must approach the home of Mrs. Gerber. You remember her, don’t you? She brought meatloaf to your father’s funeral... don’t talk to strangers…no need for your rubbers…”
Forty minutes later, the valiant Sir Billy found himself at the foot of the stairs leading up to Mrs. Gerber’s ominous front door. He had conquered THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH, but he had yet to face the greatest terror of all. Speaking to Mrs. Gerber was not a simple proposition. The old woman was, from what Sir Billy could recall from glimpsing her from behind his mother, the effigy of archetypal scary aged people. She fulfilled every requirement of the role, including having a wart on her aquiline nose, a distinct disparity between the sizes of her eyeballs, mounds of cats, and a lawn forbidden to visitors. As Sir Billy glanced nervously at Mrs. Gerber’s front stairs, he feared that the cracked paint on them might break off of its own will and come at him in a multitude of tiny pieces to throw him into the old hag’s lawn, at which point Mrs. Gerber would fly out of the chimney, pitchfork in hand, and pierce him through the heart to roast him over a hot fire. He placed a hand on his left pocket for confidence and began to climb the stairs, every one of which emitted the most awful of creaks under even the mildest of pressure. He reached the front door and took a deep breath, but before he could ring the doorbell, the door opened, revealing the terrifying Mrs. Gerber.
“Yes?” the lofty old woman exposed several gold teeth. “Don’t be startled, boy; my stairs are so loud they function as a doorbell. Haw! Now what might I do for you?”
Sir Billy could only tremble. Mrs. Gerber was far taller than he remembered. If only he had Lady Petunia’s apron to hide behind. He began to feel a clenching in his chest.
“H-h-half…sherbet,” he began, but could proceed no further. Mrs. Gerber was towering over him, her looming figure elongating into the distorted form of a narrow, cackling witch. His alveoli screamed for oxygen, yet his bronchioles yielded no air. Mrs. Gerber lifted an eyebrow, making her already seemingly larger eyeball appear even more enormous. Sir Billy went into a panic (oh, it’s not as dramatic as it seems).
Yet hark! Had he not the mystical inhaler? He had. He took it out of his pocket, put it to his lips, and inhaled the magic freshness, relaxing his straining bronchioles. He was free of the tension. What a truly wondrous instrument.
“My mother would like to borrow a half-cup of sugar,” Billy clarified, “if that wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.”
“Why, sure,” Mrs. Gerber shrugged and disappeared into her house, only to reappear seconds later with a half-cup of sugar. “Here you go, little fellow. Don’t worry about bringing me any back, by the way…”
Sir Billy received the holy half-cup of sugar with the greatest of appreciation. He thanked Mrs. Gerber sincerely (she seemed so much less frightening, all of a sudden) and turned around to begin the journey home. Oh, what a tasty afternoon this accomplishment ensured! He was so delighted with his success, however, that he neglected to look to both ends of THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH before crossing it! Fortunately for the valiant Sir Billy, his eyesight may have been less than favorable, but his hearing was quite keen. He realized, partway through his traversal of THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH that something terribly vicious and maniacal was approaching him. Could it be that an automobile was pursuing him? He turned to see a vast, voluble creature headed in his direction. A panic took him.
Yet hark! Had he not the mystical inhaler? He had. He reached into his pocket, retrieved the sacred tool, and hurled it at the creature with all of his valiant strength. Perhaps the vile automobile had suffered a similar ailment as Sir Billy; able to hear but not to see.
Mr. Noth was not watching the road. Mr. Noth was telling a subordinate that he was a flawed device.
“You’re a flawed device, Simmons, flawed, I say! You’re a complete - Oh my God!”
The automobile creature screeched to a halt. Evidently, the “clink” the magic inhaler had made upon coming in contact with the beast had disoriented it. Sir Billy, beaming with pride, continued to cross THE BLACK GROUND OF DEATH. He was truly in possession of a wondrous instrument.
That evening, there was much rejoicing. Lady Petunia and Sir Billy indulged in an awesome cookie tasting session of great proportions, toxic waste remained at bay, and the world was at peace (well, mostly). The end.