Ursa Major? Ursa Minor? I don’t know. As dawn breaks…Day Three of my chimney ordeal begins. I’m dictating this post to Haskell, aka the sensible one. The Dowager Princess is covering my Tuesday agony column for the L&D whose circulation has dropped since my captivity began. DCI Borchardt removed the police personnel to investigate the Costco Incident. Haskell tells me that a copy of Joanna Scott’s Liberation is missing along with all those Pattersons. I gave a seminar on being James Patterson early last summer to a group of cenobitic monks who were bound by the Great Silence from offering feedback. I think they enjoyed themselves, especially the two hour video montage of the Hilton girls.
My extension ladder, the means of rescue, is thousands of miles away in Los Angeles. The Duchess stopped by with her cousin’s stoelen but Depew ate it all. I’m fasting in the hopes that my bulk will diminish enabling me to plummet earthward into the hearth. Like many long term plans this one overlooks the immediate issues one confronts when stuck inside a chimney…good taste prevents me from detailing them further. Needless to say the local media is in a frenzy; I’ve whiled away a few hours reading Noah Lukeman’s treatise on the semi-colon. Depew is sending him a query letter; fourteen hundred semi-colons used in three pages. That may be a world record. Oh no, here come the crows! YHS, The Earl.