|The Story||The Authors|
Oh, it's just another day, chimed in the policemen
For the scribblers of sundry rhymes!
Heartbreak and madness and syph-i-lis
And the ver-i-tas fruit of the vine!
Who else but we can combine the
Apollonion Dionysian and Mercurial
While wearing silk shirts drenched in lavender water
with languors best described as Arthurial?
|From deep within the confines of their collective ancestral memories sprang forth a cadre of winged Cherubs who crowned them with laurel wreathes and poured forth the sweet nectar of Bacchus into large gilded goblets that had no stems. (The entire draught must be consumed ere the goblet can be put down) Two more of the cherubs brought forth a lyre which he proceeded to pluck to the accompaniament of another playing the double flute. Words and wine flew freely in the Taffylicious fumes.|
|So pastoral, so divine a mix of agape and eros, so out of the secret daydreams of a committed Classics major was this scene, that those mischevious children of Pan, the goat-legged satyrs and fauns which hide in the cracks and corners of things and never ever ever come out to play anymore (for fear of being captured and forced to guest-star anomalously on some future episode of The X-Files or, worse, Suddenly Susan...) and all their friends and familiars, hamadryads, saucy nymphs, brownies and goblins and those quaint talking moles indigenous to the children's literature of the British Isles, all came hopping and skipping and piping from under the hedges and beneath the undulating grasses, even the Teddy Bears left off from their famous picnic and came wriggling forward, and thus it was that representatives of the whole diverse fauna of the woodlands came to surround Monty and the policemen-turned-poets with an enormous daisy-chain and to regard them with huge, round eyes spinning and glowing with fairy-dust and good cheer.|
From deep on the other side of the loading dock Muffy began to growl. The high
pitched singing of the quartet of dancing driads were boring a messy hole into
the center of his brain pan. he began to float haphazardly around the room
bumping into the walls and shaking his head with deep neck broken crackles in
an effort to dislodge the high pitched squeal from within his ears. The growl
rose in pitch and intensity to become a howl.
Back in the taffy tanks the lobsters were awakened from their refreshing slumber and as one they began to rise anew from the tanks.
Nearly but not quite free from her delicious bonds Barbara let out a little whimper.(She was busy trying to gnaw her way through the goofy grape flavor that bound her ankles. Thankful at least that her weekly yoga classes were fnally coming in handy for something other than giving her good posture and several as yet unexplored levels of tantric bliss)
|Meanwhile, inside the giant salt-water tank, things were beginning to heat up for the still-recovering lobsters.|