Holy cow! Could this be the end of Oy, Rodney–the world’s most epic romance novel?
Introducing what ought to be Chapter CCCLVI–we don’t know what happened to Chapter CCCLV–Ms. Violet Crepuscular confides in her readers, “Dear readers, I confide in you my well-nigh overwhelming misgivings for the continuation of this tale. This latest development, I fear, exhausts my creative capacity. I hate it when that happens.”
Reader Suzanne Pokemon, of New Gambia, Wyoming, has amazed us by accurately predicting this latest development–wait for it!–
That the lost city of Driphdrash, lost for millenia… is somewhere in Scurveyshire. And that’s where the medieval sorcerer, Black Rodney, makes his headquarters.
No wonder she feels overwhelmed.
“I grew up on the legend of Driphdrash,” she confides in her readers (does she really have to keep doing that?), “and I always felt there must be more to it that the tiny snippets of lore we find printed in out-of-the-way places on assorted cereal boxes. Driphdrash the Mighty! Driphdrash the Doomed! The birthplace of gorgonzola. And to discover, this late in my life, that it’s hidden somewhere in the county of Scurveyshire, and that I, of all people, have been called upon to reveal its mysteries–I could just plotz!”
No wonder Violet feels overwhelmed. It’d knock me flat, and I know judo.
This is like watching a big motorboat zoom into a small marina with its 250-horsepower motor roaring on full throttle.
“This could affect Lord Jeremy Coldsore and Lady Margo Cargo’s wedding plans,” Ms. Crepuscular (No! I won’t say it! A simple “writes” will have to do).
Here she takes time out for a Marshmallow Peeps-with-ketchup sandwich. Driphdrash will stay lost, if they know what’s good for them.