(Editor’s Note: We had no Internet on Friday, not till suppertime, so there was no Joe Collidge post for that week. He threatened to break his toys unless I gave him some space.)
I amb Out-Rayed!!! Imadgine!! Plublishing some stopid Rowmants insted of Socile Jutstus!! {Paragraph blacked out]
Didjiu sea “that”!”!” Thay sensered “me”!!! This heer it “is” toetully Crayzy!!!!! You doughnt senser Pro-Grestives!!!!!!!! Evvry boddy knows That!!!!!
[Enter Ms. Crepuscular. ‘Out, damned spot’ to Joe. ]
Introducing Chapter DCCXL of her interminable romance novel, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular, The Queen of Suspense, has a bit of a fume.
“What does he mean, taking some of my space and giving it to that blithering idiot?” she demands. “Hello! Hello! I’m trying to write a novel here! Mr. Pudding and his newts–what do they care for inane American politics?
This was the chapter, she declares, in which we were supposed to find out what some of the June Taylor Dancers are doing in Scurvey Forest–and what Lord Jeremy Coldsore and Constable Chumley are going to do about it.
“I am going to hunt down this Joe Collidge nincompoop and have Mr. Pitfall break his arms!” Ms. Crepuscular writes. “How’s that for higher education!”