That’s it then. We’ve eaten the ponies and Jenkins is down to his last tin of marmalade. The marmalade went quite well with the ponies. We set out with an entire crate six glorious months ago. I have no one but myself to blame for allowing the men an extra ration after we failed to reach the pole. Today is another bitterly cold day. Duh. What was I thinking? And why did I leave my hat in Dimduddy-by-the-Puddle? And why did no one bother to tell me I had no hat? I suspect the men may not like me. Perhaps I am not fit to command. Certainly any fool could find the South Pole. You just keep going south, and just when you start to go north again, that’s where the pole is. Only it isn’t. They tell you there’s a pole, and there’s no pole. Here every Thursday, folks. Look, a penguin. I don’t know why he’s calling me Phil. He knows my name is Freddie. That’s way it is with penguins. Farewell. We died like Englishmen, except, without marmalade.
Maybe if they used silencers?
The iconic moose shaped bottle you are holding in your hands contains the finest maple syrup in North America — perhaps even South America. When you taste it (you’ll have to run the bottle under hot water and maybe smack the top against the counter. If that fails, use pliers) you are tasting the pure essence of the Northeast Kingdom, a cold and misty land of maple covered mountains, clear flowing spring water, and St. Johnsbury.
In 1793, Jebidebah Flintlock, a famous veteran of the Revolutionary War, was tracking a moose deep into the forest. It was near the end of a terribly cold and harsh winter. Like, really cold. No global warming yet. Jeb had settled on this frontier to raise a family. With 87 mouths to feed, he desperately needed to kill this moose. But Jeb had a problem. He had only one good eye. Legend has it, the other eye was damaged in a tavern scuffle with a young lawyer from Yale. Oh wait — he had another problem. He also had only one musket ball left. And his feet were cold. So that’s two more, and three because his hands, they must have been freezing as well. No L.L. Bean then, although Jeb might have known Lucius Bean, who owned a gumshoe farm over yonder hills. Nevertheless, sighting his quarry, he raised his musket and fired. His shot struck the moose right between the antlers, richocheted off, and grazed a nearby maple tree. Thrifty Yankee that he was, he inspected the tree to reclaim his musket ball, discovering the clear sweet sap flowing out like Ambrosia. And in that moment, Jebedebah’s Lost Moose Maple Syrup was born. Also, recycling.
My Dearest Hollingsworth,
What can I say? Congratulations old fellow on a capstone to a brilliant career. A thousand apologies for missing your publication party last month at the Faculty Club. Helen had a dreadfully aching molar that night that needed attending to, thus we found ourselves scrambling for a dentist at the last minute, the dismal results which of course were preordained by virtue of our location in a small Amish hamlet named Curdsburg, Pennsylvania. The Amish it seems have no urgent care clinics as they rely on folk remedies and the power of prayer. In the end a kindly doctor was found and the offending molar was plucked as if by a magician. As there were no ATM’s nearby, it took a bit of searching to locate a farmer willing to barter one of Helen’s almost finished Faroe Island cable knit sweaters for the several dozen eggs needed to pay his fee. By then we realized we would never make your party. I look forward to reading your book, and I do hope you will forgive me for being a Kindle unlimited subscriber. I know we authors make a lot of noise about that demon empire still a penny is a penny you know. My best to William as always.
It’s a shame you missed the party. Your absence was never noticed, if that makes you feel any better. Bill decorated in a Great Gatsby theme— the Baz Luhrman version — and even managed to twist Leo’s arm into making a surprise appearance. I hardly see Bill this summer as he spends most of his time running parties for A-listers in the Hamptons, styling photo shoots for Conde Nast, and surfing off Montauk. Anyway, the book is a great success, no thanks to your review, by the way. Of course we have not always seen eye to eye but really, “the Artful Codger?” Harsh. I’m okay with a little shade but why throw the entire forest? Continue reading
Dear Exalted One,
How does that sound? Think you could get used to it? Well, we hope you are sitting down in your best leather club chair, sipping some rare 18 year old Yamakakaka Coffee Whiskey, because we here at International House of Banking have exciting news for you. Your impeccable credit score, buying habits, and frequent flyer mileage balance immediately qualifies you for an instant upgrade to Triple Diamond Premium Platinum Elite Titanium Status. This newest offering from IHB replaces the previous Triple Deluxe Elite Platinum Five Diamond Excellence Card, so you may cut that card in half. Oh snap, you can’t — it’s constructed of a patented blend of carbon fiber, Kevlar and Tyvek, just like this offering card, which is why you sprained your wrist trying to tear this unbelievable offer in half before you even opened it. Continue reading