Introducing Chapter CDLXXXII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular (“the Queen of Suspense”) writes, “I find it necessary to introduce a character whom I had hoped to do without. I give you, dear reader, fair warning: this here is a very scary person!”
This would be none other than The Useless Sheriff of Scurveyshire, appointed to his position by the queen herself, in a bout of uncontrolled giddiness. Descended from Saxon nobles who never amounted to anything, the Sheriff is Useless because of his habit of colliding with stationary objects in plain sight. He walks face-first into trees, trips over horse-troughs, stumbles into ponds, and abuses his authority.
And he has learned that Constable Chumley, whom he hates maniacally for no reason, has had a life-altering experience that has rendered him inarticulate.
“Although I never editorialize about the characters in my book,” Ms. Crepuscular says, with a reckless disregard for truth, “I have to say that the Sheriff is a real stinker. The fact that he has an extra nose on the side of his head does not make him any more appealing! Yech! He looks like some kind of Cubist portrait!”
Meanwhile, the constable tries to tell Lord Jeremy about his life-altering experience as an undercover investigator. But the only bit that Jeremy understands is “Miphlum hite yon braithy callapop, m’Lord.” It is not very illuminating.
Stay tuned for more suspense! If we can find some.
Hmmph, I feel triggered by the mocking of people who walk into walls and furniture. I suppose the Useless Sheriff also apologizes occasionally to the doorpost or desk that he’s walked into, the way I’ve been known to do on occasion? Boo hoo. I’d go to my safe space, but the last time I went there, I walked into the edge of the door — and instinctively apologized to it. Well, anyway, I was safe once I got there. I can’t speak for the door. 🙂
Seriously, I’ve been known to misjudge distances and bump into things. During my first assignment in the Air Force, I had to walk around the side of my desk to exit my office — and about once a week I’d walk right into the corner of the desk. Every time my orderly room clerk outside my office heard the bump or my “oof,” she’d call out, “That desk has been there for a long time, Lieutenant.”
Don’t tell me they let you fly fighter jets.
In my day, women didn’t fly — and my eyesight wasn’t good enough anyway. What I really wanted was to be on missile crew, preferably Minuteman III missiles. But women weren’t allowed to be on missile crews either. Just as well — I might have bumped into the console once too often. (That’s a joke, of course. It took two people doing a particular task simultaneously from far away from each other to [shall we say] get things going. One person could never have done it on her own. And the equipment was too sturdy to be injured by one slender female bumping into it.)
Might’ve made a good sitcom, though.