Huff-Puff-Puff!

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Just so you know I’m not just fatzing around today (as they say in Ninneburky), let me tell ya. Blog posts, edit huge Chalcedon article about economics (requiring duct tape around head), Newswithviews column, recycling center, a trip to the store, type up another chapter of The Temptation (which is hard to read because of cold days when the ink wouldn’t flow smoothly from the pen)–do you wonder why I never got around to another installment of Oy, Rodney? Now I’m a bit too tuckered out to try.

I’ve just got to get this book finished. Somehow! I had hoped to get it done this week.

I’ll try to deliver a cat video this evening. Signing off for now…

More on ‘Oy, Rodney’

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I didn’t feel well yesterday, so I read a bit more of Violet Crepuscular’s dauntingly long romance novel, Oy, Rodney.

Faced with bankruptcy and ruin, young Lord Jeremy Coldsore hires a mysterious stranger whose only talent is performing imitations of persons whom most people have never heard of. He avoids giving his name, but his impression of Pete Runnels would really wow everyone if they only knew who Pete Runnels was.

Lady Margo Cargo, the richest widow in Scurveyshire, insists on going out to check her mailbox and has a nasty fall. The termites have been at her wooden leg again. Jeremy is still trying to find the right way to propose to her. “Here is how Pete Runnels would do it,” says his new adviser. But Jeremy gets tongue-tied.

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(In case you were wondering)

Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who claims he’s Sargon of Akkad, sues to get his ancient empire back. An unscrupulous solicitor takes his case.

Two pages of Chapter LXXIII are completely black, indicating two nights in which nothing happens.

The vicar, recovering from his conniptions, can now say, “Rodney! Rodney!” No one knows what he means; nor is anyone else willing to peek under the backyard wading pool to see what he saw.

Please stop criticizing my choice to display the cover of Lord of the Tube Socks. My copy of Oy, Rodney is one of those books with the cover torn off so it can be sold cheaply.

‘Oy, Rodney,’ Continued

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My heel spur was acting up today, and I turned my ankle yesterday on those confounded walnuts that are all over the yard, and a pipe broke in our basement so we can’t use the washing machine and I had to go to the laundromat instead–so it seemed an apt time to read Chapters XLV and XLVI of Oy, Rodney by Violet Crepuscular.

(I have been asked why I always show the cover of Lord of the Tube Socks instead of the one for Oy, Rodney. It’s really much nicer, that’s all.)

The mysterious stranger who looks like Ed Begley but isn’t, it turns out, has been in the book under false pretenses, having sneaked in from another book entirely. Ms. Crepuscular was rather put out when she discovered that, so that character has since been abruptly written out–leaving the way clear for our hero, young Lord Jeremy Coldsore, to propose marriage to Lady Margo Cargo, the richest widow in Scurveyshire. In a real stroke of luck, Jeremy finds the glass eye that fell out of Lady Margo’s head some months ago and is trying to get up the nerve to return it to her.

Meanwhile, the vicar, recovering from the conniptions he suffered when he peeked under the  backyard wading pool to see what was making that awful noise, has stopped speaking backwards and now speaks sideways, which makes him even more difficult to understand. It has not yet occurred to him that he could write down what he saw and then people would know.

Jeremy’s scheme to introduce wild koalas to Yorkshire has gone belly-up and he’s running out of time to recover his family’s lost fortune and save Coldsore Hall from another mysterious stranger who wants to tear it down and build a MacDonald’s in its place. Under pressure, Jeremy hints, “Maybe it’s time I went to see Rodney.” I still think Rodney will turn out to be a rabbit.

But that’s enough for now.