Priscilla Osmond woke up with a killer hangover. She had pain in her head, pain in her eyes, pain in her joints, everywhere. “This sucks” she thought “I’ve got to go to work at interpol at 9:00”. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 9:15 already so she phoned her boss at interpol and apolgised for being late. She then ran in to work but her boss said to her “Priscilla you have a drink problem, this lateness is not normal, I am suspending you for one month”. Priscilla said “Sir, you can’t I ran all the way here”. Her Boss said “So what, stop spreading wanton garbage, Get out!” Her bosses attitude would anger many people but not Priscilla. She said “I will keep calm as best I can” adamantly as she slashed his BMW’s tyres.
So, if I understand this right, we’re to continue the story in the same vein. OK, I’ll give it a try.
Later, as Priscilla watched the Interpol Headquarters burn to the ground, she reflected on her pyromania. She had spent her youngest years as a street urchin, a waif with a box of matches. She remembered the anger she felt when she first saw a panda cub at the local zoo because it reminded her of her worst enemy, Smokey the Bear. In high school, her one and only boyfriend Mark had left Priscilla because of her “deep, sensual, sexual, even vital yearning” to be surrounded by flames. Indeed, she had forbidden Mark to even touch her without candles flickering about the room. Of course, since then she had removed her bra zillions of times amidst the bonfires of wicked pagan rituals.
She had felt a tad guilty when they sentenced her best friend Fran Finkel in the infamous “Who Burned Santa Claus” trial a few years later. Fran certainly wasn’t the type to firebomb elves, but the police were stupid. Priscilla was neither dreadfully conservative nor way-out liberal in her flammable philosopy. No, she was just a nice Landover Maryland girl who drank too much and scorched anything she could…
The problem: Munch (formerly Connor) is from Kansas, and now lives in Indiana. He knows virtually nothing about the east coast.
Please explain this entire thread! I love riddles, but when something as perplexing as this comes across, and the answer is even more perplexing, I jus’ gotta know!
This story seems to need wrapping up, and I don’t think I can resist…
Priscilla knew she would have to find another line of work, or each day would be more unbearable than the one before. She deeply resented all the glib yahoos she had to deal with at Interpol. Moreover, she was none too sanguine about the risk of working for a police agency while indulging in questionable activities. To stay under their watchful gaze would be a major danger.
Anatole Alger was the one pal she could count on in times of turmoil. She had met him on a company picnic a few years before. The picnic had ended abruptly with a hailstorm, but their friendship continued. Often-times they would both gab on and on about their dreams and hopes.
Pretty senstitive for a guy, Anatole was a poet who loved the verdant parks in the midst of the busy city. In the relative quiet of the urban glades, he would spend hours working on some ode or sonnet. His latest work was a sad, historical poem, an elegy, “Ptolemy of Alexandria”.
He greeted Priscilla with a hug and a kiss. She said, “Too many heavy cares are making my existence a burden. Since you’ve studied the magical arts, could you just wave your wand and make them all go away?” “As much as we’d enjoy a fairy tale ending, I have another idea,” he replied.
It seems that Anatole had a cousin who ran an animal talent show. Every night the act required a performer to coax a troup of gerbils, hamsters, and/or rabbits through a series of flaming hoops. “I agree, certainly,” said Priscilla happily. “You know that’s just the kind I am.” She went to work right away with a brand new zeal and heart-felt devotion. And that’s how Priscilla found happiness through Anatole the poet.
I had believed that Pricilla would eventually be caught by Interpol and banished for her fireworks to some forgotten island-- with no country to ever call home. I, for one, am glad you gave the story a happy (and witty) ending!