Saragun Springs

Welcome to Saragun Springs: The Book of Daisy Part Three

Some G.O.A.T.

It was a day for hiding from my worries. Since I’m almost always in my office, it’s easy for trouble to find me. But I wasn’t at my desk when my Imaginary Friend, Renfield, came looking for me with the latest crapbomb for me to either disarm or disregard and let detonate. I was in a vista I had copied from an old movie; relaxing in a colorized meadow, under a shade tree, warmed by Pongshine and a bottle of Bokay fortified apple wine concealed in a paper bag, writing what you read now on my trusty Chromebook.

But Renfield found me anyway, she too had a similar paper bag. But she was also carrying what I assumed was the latest crapbomb. By name it turned out to be an altered edition of what is known in our world as that beloved children’s classic, Charlotte’s Web. But this copy was from a “PDQ Pilsner Music and Book Emporium” located at Other Earth. Their version of E.B. White’s tale is titled Charlotte’s Web: Some G.O.A.T.

“It’s so cute,” Renfield said, sitting down beside me. “Daisy and Peety are going through an extreme capitalism phase.”

Before I could ask Renfield what she meant by that, she opened the book to the page normally left blank inside the cover, the one I’ve always assumed is there for the author to sign, and handed it to me. Alas, the only way to ask for Mr. White’s autograph since 1985 is via a crystal ball–and this copy was a recent print. Yet the page was filled with words anyway, in long-hoof, which I recognized as that of one Miss Daisy Cloverleaf the Pygmy Goatess. For someone who has to velcro a pen to her hoof, Daisy produces a remarkably tidy script.

It said:

Dear, Miss Leila–

To prevent you from asking Miss Renfield “What in hell’s name (or sake) is this hot steamer?” and knowing that you will launch a futile campaign to con her into spilling the backstory, she asked that I, the Goatess from G.O.A.T., explain the current situation.

As team G.O.A.T. (Greatest Of All Time) [here, Daisy had underlined the first letter of each word of the acronym] me and my sidekick Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon are a superhero duo who rescue fictional characters inside books, plays, television programs, and films shown at Other Earth–a place recklessly created by the person who employs you as a Pen.

G.O.A.T.’s latest triumph rests with you. Miss Renfield will fill in the details, but in a conversational way that will not come off like an information dump.

Yours,

Miss Daisy Cloverleaf, The G.O.A.T.

Before I could speak, Renfield grabbed the book, thumbed to the final chapter “The Last Day,” and handed it back to me.

“It’s all the same as it was until the very end,” she said.

“Why did Daisy write this instead of telling me in person?”

“Daisy and Peety are huge celebrities on Other Earth. Here, out in the Barnyard, they’re just two of your Fictional Characters.”

“So, they’re a bit ashamed of their creator,” I said, taking a nip of wine. “Could be that they think they’re juuuussst a little bit better than their old author.”

“I got a big idea,” Renfield said, “let me take over the narrative as you read the additional material.”

“All right–Hey! this could be the stylistic invention that finally lands me the Nobel,” I said. “Me, you and Daisy–we can pass around the narrative as though it were the Gorgon sisters’ eye. I smell the luta-fish on the barbie already–you take the helm.”

Which is exactly what I, Renfield, did. As I opened my phone and took over control of this file, I considered informing Leila that lutefisk was a Norwegian delicacy impossible to prepare in the Australian way, and that the Nobel for Literature is awarded in Sweden, but if I spent my life casting light on all her little ignorances, I’d have no time for anything else. Besides, she’s convinced that every land north of France should be called United Iceland; such can be expected from someone who’s also convinced that the Dutch would be better off called the “Hollies.”

“You do know that every word you write comes up on this screen?” Leila said, nodding at her open Chromebook.

This was when a mysterious god-like force caused Leila to close the Chromebook and give all her limited attention to the novel I’d brought her.

As she read the changed passage that I had written, strange expressions crossed her face, apparently on their way to the other side, like chickens crossing the road, as she got to the good parts.

Since I was at “the helm” I chose to have Leila to read aloud the “improvements” team G.O.A.T. made to White’s story.

“And as Charlotte prepared to die with dignity a dwarf Goatess wearing a white cape accompanied by something best described as the bizarre given life–a small two dimensional drawing of some sort of bird, even more incredibly, animate, and drinking from what appeared to be a can of beer–came to where Charlotte lay.

“‘Greetings, Spider,’ said the little Goat. ‘I am the Goatess from G.O.A.T. and this is my sidekick Pie-Eyed Peety. We have come to make it possible for you to reunite with Wilbur.’

“‘ “That boy is a P-I-G Pig’’ Babs–Animal House,’ said Pie-Eyed Peety,” Leila said, quoting a character who had just quoted an external character from a film inside the story she was reading out loud. (So that’s why you get “‘“ marks, if anyone the Nobel committee is reading.)

Leila stopped reading it aloud. The mysterious god-like force allowed her a little more wine. The mysterious god-like force then stated that Leila was seated on the ground, her back leaning against the base of a tree, legs straight out, the Chromebook balanced on her lap, the novel in one hand and the wine in the other–for the benefit of readers who could not infer a clear picture from the half-ass clues Leila had provided prior to the mysterious god-like force’s taking over the narrative.

Then Leila shook her head as if such an act could clear it instead of having the effect of scattering her thoughts like the fake flakes in a snow globe. She then mentally wrestled with the mysterious god-like force like Captain Kirk hamming it up against an invisible entity; her face contorted like Prince Andrew contemplating the invitation list to a slumber party…

“Three consecutive similes and you are out!” I yelled at Renfield, as I, Leila, regained control of the narrative.

“Rats.”

“You know the rules fiend! The fifth adverb and third simile are one way tickets to Palookaville.”

“I still say Rats–those were Daisy’s suggestions.”

“Serves you right for taking direction from a herbivore.”

“That’s fine. Whatever. Didn’t want to do it any more anyway.”

“That’s very thirteen-years old of you, Rennie–now, would you please explain the end of this crapbomb to me?”

“Why? It should be plain to even a P-I-G, pig, what happened.”

“Well, it says here,” as I held up the book, “that Peety restored Charlotte to health and gave her immortality by dumping a drop of PDQ Pilsner on her. And it now ends not as it has for decades, but with Charlotte writing things like, ‘TELL MOM AND DAD TO BUY PDQ’ and ‘WHEN YOU WANT THAT FIRST SPECIAL DRINK EVER, MAKE IT PDQ’ in her web.”

Renfield showed me her brightest smile. “That’s where the extreme capitalism phase comes in. Team G.O.A.T. and PDQ Pilsner have merged brands on Other Earth. Fortunately the guidelines in that world about what is and isn’t appropriate advertising for children are slightly blurred.”

It made sense, in a weird and twisted way. I opened my Chromebook and saw that there were nine-thousand-seventy-five unread emails in my box, all from the Boss–who gets an earful of complaints from Other Earth, and is under the delusion that I care about her problems.

I nodded at Renfield’s paper bag. “Is that PDQ?” PDQ Pilsner does not exist on Earth, but it is the cheap swill of choice in the Springs and over there. Although we seldom discuss it, Renfield is a huge PDQ shareholder at Other Earth.

“Christ no–I’d drink Roundup before that piss,” she said. “It’s another bottle of Bokay for you. Courtesy of Team G.O.A.T.”

Renfield rose and again flashed her megawatt smile. “Next up for the PDQ/G.O.A.T. team brand is music. They are aiming to enter Billy, Don’t Be a Hero and transform Billy into The Coward of the County.”

“Wow, can hardly wait,” I said as I cracked the fresh bottle of Bokay, deleted, unread, a new swarm of emails from the Boss and silently cast about my mind for a better hiding place.

Welcome to Saragun Springs: The Book of Daisy Part Two

PDQ Pilsner Playhouse Proudly Presents

Without knocking, Renfield entered my office pushing an antique television on a furniture dolly. The thing looked old enough to have aired the Lincoln assassination.

“What now?” I asked.

She smiled. “Every time you ask me that; every time I avoid answering you, and every time I wonder why you have yet to catch on.”

I leaned back in my chair, put my feet on the desk and attempted to look wise yet amused, all knowing but still a good sport. For I’d read somewhere that such poses are commonly associated with a tall in the saddle style of leadership that people find inspiring. Unfortunately, I am very short.

“All right, wiseguy, allow me a wild guess. That relic,” I said, motioning at the TV, “has something to do with Daisy and Peety running amok at Other Earth.”

“Ah, the Boss has already called.”

“She’s always on the hotline. So much that she must think ‘What now?’ is her name.”

“Did she tell you about the PDQ Pilsner Playhouse?”

“You know I don’t listen to her after I hear the names Daisy and Peety.”

“Then you are in for a treat.”

Renfield locked the dolly’s wheels, plugged the set in and turned it on. It made a disconcerting buzz as the tubes heated up. The contraption resembled a thirties era living room radio, something out of a Rockwell painting. The screen, however, was small, more like a lens. A single white dot formed at the screen’s center; it increased into a jumpy, snowy, rolling jumble of amorphous images, and the buzz grew tenfold. Renfield adjusted the volume, vertical and horizontal. There was a “rabbit ears” antenna on top of the thing, and she moved each ear with great care. She did it all reverently and delicately, yet failed to get much of a result.

“If I remember my history right,” I said, “this is one of those objects that responds best to violence.”

Renfield slapped her forehead in a What Was I Thinking sort of way and gave the thing a heavy kick in the side. It almost fell off the dolly but righted itself with a thump. The picture resolved instantly.

I’ve had more than my fair share of weird sights as the Chief Executive Pen of Saragun Springs, but I do believe that what appeared on the set became the newest Weird Champion. Nearly all the champions have been trained and shaped by Renfield, and eight or so of my roster of two-hundred-twenty plus FC’s, so maybe it was fitting that two of my Free-Willingest FC’s, by name, Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon and Daisy Cloverleaf the Pygmy Goatness had a wing and hoof in the ascension of the latest Weird Champion.

With a flourish of trumpets, a measured male baritone voice came over the speaker. On screen, and in glorious black and white, two industrial smoke stacks were pouring something up into the atmosphere. Both stacks had PDQ painted on them in giant letters.

The voice intoned:

“Good Evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Tonight. the PDQ Pilsner Playhouse proudly presents: Oedipus Rex.”

This was followed by a swell of classical music and a bunch of blather about the virtues of the sponsor.

“Um, let me guess, the Other Earth version is altered, like that Twilight Zone we watched the other day?” I asked.

“Yes,” Renfield said. “This aired was aired by the Dumont Network on the sixth of January 1951. But the version we are about to watch was seen only on Other Earth.”

I sighed. “Rock, paper scissors you for the backstory.”

Renfield agreed. I played “rock”; she played “paper.” As any kid in the schoolyard can tell you, paper covers rock.

“Shit. How ‘bout best of three,” I said.

“Not a chance in hell.”

I pulled the pint of Wild Turkey I keep on hand for medical emergencies from the bottom drawer of my desk. There are also pints of Jim Beam, Four Freedoms vodka and several hotel bottles of peppermint schnapps in the same drawer. In fact there is little in my desk that isn’t there for medical emergencies. The bottle was half full. I took it down to the quarter mark, passed it to Renfield who transformed it into an empty vessel. I opened my Chromebook, activated the voice to text, rose from my chair and began to pace and orate, all the while ignoring the kinescope version of the Greek tragedy on TV.

“Dear Diary, how many years must pass before everyone recalls the debacles of youth fondly, before all involved laugh about those silly times when everything was oh so serious? Twenty, thirty? Perhaps it happens when we finally know how many seas a white dove must sail before she sleeps in the sand.” I paused and lit a cigarette, mainly in an effort to insinuate the end of this paragraph.

“Regardless of the future,” I continued, “I feel the need to unburden my soul–now. Since I created you with a purpose similar to that of a septic tank in mind, consider yourself the lucky recipient, Diary.”

As I spoke, I kept my eye on the program, which crammed about ten hours’ of material into forty-six minutes. That was its sole virtue. I didn’t recognize any of the actors. Yet. The title role was essayed by scenery chewing ham cured at the school of Hormel. There wasn’t an R this guy couldn’t trill or an emotion beyond his ability to overplay.

“It seems just yesterday when Renfield, Gwen and Daisy visited Other Earth and brought a cartoon beer mascot pigeon named Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon home–just to see him morph into a sentient being able to travel back to Other Earth at any time in its history from his creation in 1946 on–for the laws of Other Earth physics do not allow for time traveling to any time before you existed.”

I then rose, went to my office window and opened it. I don’t mind telling you that this action is/was a literary act of foreshadowing an upcoming fate.

Renfield shook her head and fished a pint Cutty Sark out of my desk. She mumbled something that sounded like “So much for seamlessly laying the backstory.”

Undeterred, I left the window and I kept at it: “And it seems like only twenty minutes ago when Peety and one of my Barnyarder FC’s, Daisy Cloverleaf the Pygmy Goatess, decided to form a superhero team called G.O.A.T.–as in the Greatest Of All Time–um please bold face the first letters of that if you will, Diary.…Anyway, G.O.A.T. specializes in entering old television shows and films at Other Earth to affect the outcome. They do it to rescue fellow FC’s–though not my own–who are in peril. And G.O.A.T. can do it because of Peety’s singular ability to go just about anywhere between Other Earth’s 1946 onward–including into programmes; Daisy is able to come along because she is an FC, thus insertable anywhere that is considered a public domain fictional story. The only prohibition being that they cannot enter films or shows in which the actor who played the character they interact with is still alive. Needless to say, TV viewers at Other Earth are somewhat surprised when watching an old rerun and suddenly see a hand-sized two-dimensional cartoon Pigeon and a Pygmy Goat wearing a cape enter a scene at a critical moment…When this happens I usually get an irate call from my employer, because the citizens of Other Earth consider her God, have her contact information and beseech her with all their troubles. She’s the sort of God those guys deserve. Anyway, talk at you later, Dearest Diary.”

Renfield had mixed herself a Cutty and ginger ale. Since she had the only clean glass, I took a pull of each straight from their bottles and swished them around in my mouth.

Then something occurred to me. “One thing, Rennie, I thought PDQ never made it. Went bankrupt about twenty minutes after they got the license.”

PDQ Pilsner has never existed in our world, and only briefly by name at Other Earth, for my employer thought it would be a cool idea. She never followed up on it, but she’s to blame anyway.

“That was true until recently. Daisy and Peety are becoming famous on Other Earth. So much so, and with me as a partner, that they licensed the name of PDQ Pilsner to another brewer, to a nifty profit, I might add.”

“But it was my idea.”

“So–according to the treaty the Boss signed with Other Earth you aren’t allowed to set foot in the place, let alone sue for damages. Besides, you retain all rights on this Earth.”

I was about to shred her logic to little pieces when the final act of the Oedipus saga reached denouement. Oedipus had learned the sad fact that the Oracle had told him the truth. In the most convoluted way possible, our hero learns that he indeed murdered his father and married his mother as foretold, despite all the precautions he took to avoid it. (Anyone who wants the full backstory can look up Sophocles in Hades.)

This, of course, was where Oedipus claws out his own eyes so he will see no more awful truths. But instead of that happening in a highly inferred artsy 1951 fashion, Pie Eyed-Peety and Daisy showed up in the scene, both, as stated before, dressed as superheroes: The G.O.A.T. and PDQ Pete.

“What new humiliation, Zeus? What fresh folly awaits, Olympus?” the Hormellian actor orated, upon the duo’s arrival.

“I am The G.O.A.T. and this is my sidekick PDQ Pete. We have brought you an alternative to blinding yourself that will work to the same effect.”

Daisy nodded at Peety who dashed off screen and returned with a pair of empty shopping bags.

Daisy took the bags in her mouth, gave them to “Oedipus” and said, “Here’s a bag to put over your head and one for Mom if yours falls off.”

“‘I find Milton as boring as you find Milton’-Professor Jennings, Animal House,” Peety Squawked.

“Sophocles wrote this Peety,” Daisy said primly. “But thank you for sharing.”

Two beats of a big drum sounded and a placard that said “FINIS” appeared on the screen, thus ending the transmission.

Naturally, the hotline rang.

“Be sure to tell the Boss, it’s Hamlet next week.”

I threw the fated hotline out the open window.

FINIS

OUR CAST

The GOAT….Daisy Cloverleaf

PDQ Pete…..Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon

Renfield….Herself

Oedipus…Boots the Impaler

The Boss…Poppyseed the Type A Hummingbird (yes, he was on the hotline–literally, just perched there)

Written, produced, directed and co-starring Leila

Welcome to Sargun Springs: The Book of Daisy Part One

G.O.A.T.

I was attempting to hibernate through a stormy November of the soul when Renfield barged into my office, blinded the room with light and cheerfully yelled “Great news!”

“Can’t you see I’m hibernating?”

“Oh, you’ll want to know about this,” she said with a smile (always smiling). “Daisy and Peety are the greatest superhero team.”

I sighed and lit a cigarette. “So? Both have the emotional intelligence of a six-year-old. It makes sense that they’d play Batman in the Barnyard–On your way out, please kill the light.”

I knew that my hibernation was on pause when Renfield said: “The ‘Barnyard’ you alluded to is on Other Earth.”

“Holy skid marks, Caped Crusader,” I said. “Do me a favor, pretend that I have amnesia and fill me in on the backstory. Speak as though I’m a reader ignorant of Daisy, Peety and Saragun Springs in general.”

“Ha! Forget you and your incomprehensible laziness as a storyteller,” Renfield said. “You’re not passing that buck my way this time.”

It wasn’t my day for picking longshots. So I opened my laptop and wrote the following:

Renfield whistled and Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon and Daisy Cloverleaf the Pygmy Goatess entered my office. Both are Fictional Characters (FC’s) in my employ, who (along with over a couple hundred other FC’s) “essay” various roles in my productions–which are “shot” like movies. Renfield is a former FC who is now the only Imaginary Friend, and she’s second in charge of this virtual realm of Saragun Springs in which I am the Penname (sigh, yes, just one word)–or “Director.” Everyone over here but me belongs to the Union of Imaginary Friends and Fictional Characters (UIFFC)–formerly the Union of Pennames, Imaginary Friends and Fictional Characters.

“See, was that so hard?” Renfield asked.

I ignored her, which is easy to do if you get a lot of practice. But Daisy and Peety were more unusual than… well, usual. For the past month or so, Daisy had been sporting a paper mache horn on her head because she wanted to be a Unicorn. Which I supported because I figured that would keep her from bitching about not being born a Unicorn. The horn was gone and she was wearing a glittering gold robe like that of a pro wrestler–except it was designed for a small individual of the four-legged variety. She also had matching spats above her hooves, a ribbon of the same color tied to her tail, and wraparound sunglasses, like the Terminator–except these were fashioned to fit the head of a Pygmy Goat. A gaudy gold rope chain, whose medallion contained four large black letters, also made from glitter, hung from her neck. It said: G.O.A.T.

Peety’s always weird looking. He’s a two dimensional cartoon Pigeon who was the late 1940’s mascot for PDQ Pilsner on Other Earth. He looked the way he always looks, but somehow he had rearranged his lines to form a mask like the one the Lone Ranger wore.

It quickly became clear that the situation was a steaming pile of freshly squeezed Dog crap just begging to be stepped in.

I cracked under the strain: “All right, what’s the gag?”

Peety spoke first. “The G.O.A.T., brought to you by PDQ!” Peety still touts PDQ in between slob-com scripture quotations.

“As in the Greatest Of All Time,” Daisy added, with a smidgen of attitude, enough to shade the caps bold, I might add.

I should have known that Daisy would have eventually come across the sportstalk/show biz acronym of hyperbole and get peculiar about it.

“I’m all for delusions of grandeur,” I said, “but Renny here tells me you guys have been to Other Earth in violation of the agreement.”

“Actually, Leila,” Renfield chimed in, “the agreement states that only you can no longer set foot on Other Earth.”

“Doesn’t that imply that FC’s of my creation are a part of me?”

“But surely her highness recalls endowing this Imaginary Friend and all of her FC’s with Free Will,” Renfield said. “We do as we please.”

The phone rang. It was the hot line. The Boss.

I answered the phone with my usual polite demeanor: “What?”

The Boss was in her usual state of disarray caused by her subhuman lifestyle. She told me and told me and told me stuff until I had heard enough.

“I’ve got just two words for you, Boss,” I said before hanging up on her. “And they ain’t ‘thank you.’”

I lit another cigarette off the still smoldering butt of the one I’d just finished.

“The Boss says that Other Earth called to complain about a certain beloved on Other Earth cartoon Pigeon and an unknown Pygmy Goat getting inside an old Twilight Zone rerun at Other Earth. They traced the individuals in question back to her. I don’t think I’m guilty of profiling when I assume the culprits are in this very room–along with their enabler,” I said, looking directly at Renfield.

“Ah, Other Earth, that twin world devised by our Esteemed Employer then entrusted to you, our humble Pen,” Renfield said, filling the remainder of the backstory because she had realized that by refusing to do so meant that I had to cut her lines. “That Eden you visited in its past and altered its future so it includes ungovernable nuclear monsters that exist only in our fifties science fiction films. Where a Team commanded by me and the GOAT found Peety and brought him to our world despite the rift that caused in the fabric of spacetime.”

She came around my side of the desk and began to fiddle with my laptop.

“I’ve managed to download a copy of G.O.A.T.’s first mission.”

I recognized the scene instantly. It was the final seconds of a Twilight Zone episode that was originally aired both here and at Other Earth on 20 November 1959, titled Time Enough At Last. The episode involves an extremely myopic, milquetoast bookworm named Henry Bemis, who only wants to read but is prevented by everyone around him, especially his shrewish wife. A famous episode which ends with Henry being the sole survivor of a nuke attack because he was in the vault of the bank he worked at. Henry at first despairs, then rejoices because there’s “All the time at last” to read. Then, in a cruel ironic twist, Henry accidentally breaks his glasses, begins to weep and is then consoled and aided by a cartoon Pigeon and a Pygmy Goatess in the guises of superheroes–at least that’s what now runs on Other Earth.

“Hello, Mr. Bemis,” Daisy said, “we found your spare pair of spectacles unharmed at your house. Alas, the same cannot be said for your wife.”

“Squ-wack–boiled like a sweet potato.” Peety, ad libbed, as he sometimes does, always preceded with a Squ-wack.

Daisy then used her mouth to carefully remove Mr. Bemis’s glasses from her robe and placed them on Mr. Bemis.

He was both overjoyed and somewhat confused at the same time.

“What, what–um, how is this?”

“We are from G.O.A.T., which means the Greatest Of All Time,” Daisy said, as if that explained everything. “I am The GOAT and this is my sidekick PDQ Pete. We must go now, but I recommend that you locate a book on glasses making and repair.”

Then PDQ Pete dug out an unharmed fifth of Jack Daniel’s from the rubble, pushed it toward Bemis and said “‘My advice to you is to start drinking heavily’”–Bluto, Animal House.”

The screen faded to black.

“So,” I said, “you guys are FC superheroes who rescue other FC’s in distress, but can only do it at Other Earth because of Peety’s singular effect on the flow of reality over there.”

“Precisely,” Daisy said.

“Wait a minute–that man was actually an actor named Burgess Meredith, not a Fictional Character.”

“Not anymore, Leila,” Renfield said. “Mr. Meredith lived to almost ninety and has been dead for a very long time.”

“Let me get this straight–or as straight as I’m willing–since Meredith’s death that character on the show has been Mr. Bemis.”

“Precisely,” either Renfield or Daisy or maybe even Peety said. I forgot because I had stopped paying attention.

“Well, thanks for the update,” I said with a yawn. “Don’t let the Boss catch you guys playing over there. And I’m sure that none of you will let the door hit you in the ass on the way out–and turn off that goddam light.”

They just laughed and went on their merry way. And no one turned off the light. Fortunately, the hotline rang again. I fired the phone at the light with stunning success and resumed my hibernation.

Our Cast:

Renfield…Herself

The GOAT…Daisy Cloverleaf

PDQ Pete…Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon

“Mr. Bemis”…Either The Ghost of Burgess Meredith or Henry Bemis (we aren’t sure)

The Boss…Dead Air

Kane…Leila Allison

Well, every franchise has to begin somewhere. The big problem here is the backstory, for we deemed it unlikely that there might be repeat readers. Thus it and following productions had (and have) the backstory woven into them in increasingly strange ways. The following day we “shot” a sequel that will air in this space tomorrow.

A Day of Rest

Today was going to be part Seven of Welcome to Saragun Springs: “The Book of Peety.” Was until the Union decided that since God knocked off on Sunday that the Union members were entitled the same consideration.

I suppose that the drug dens, speakeasies and gambling houses are entitled to their share of the cut, so it is a day off in the Springs. But in keeping with the spirit of Mondays, pointless activities will resume in this space tomorrow.

In closing, I advise that you Do What Thou Wilt in proportion to the money you have saved for bail.

Leila