“Kaaaa-BOOM!” writes Violet Crepuscular, introducing chapter DCXLII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney. “Mount Scurveyshire has erupted! The roads are already choked with refugees fleeing to Czechoslovakia.”
[Excuse me. The regular editor plotzed when he read that last sentence. He had to be locked in a padded cell for his own good. I have been named to replace him because my knowledge of history and geography is no better than it should be.]
The krikitt match goes on, though. “It’s tradition,” explains Lady Margo Cargo, in a candid aside to the reader. “Krikitt has been played here since the time of Piltdown Man. We can’t let a volcano hold us back!”
Despite the tremendous noise, Mt. Scuuveyshire has produced little more than a bump in the ground. A ragged urchin plugged the hole with his poor tattered garment.
“I do not mean a sea urchin!” adds Ms. Crepuscular. “Sea urchins are pachyderms. Or something. I mean a poor little orphan boy named Zaph-enaph-Kraputni. How is that for bringing home the suspense! I’ll bet none of you saw that coming!”
I think I’ll put a thumbtack on her chair. There is a limit to the abuse a substitute editor must take.
Too funny! Can’t stop laughing. One of your best, Lee!
It’s been my experience that most volcanic eruptions fail to live up to their advance press, so I’m not surprised. The suspense was killing me, but they I realized that I had my suspenders too tight. 🙂