Smeghead lives in the old ramshackle house just outside of town with the lawn going to seed. You know - the old Smeghead place? None of the kids dare go there. If a ball flies over the tall, wrought-iron fence, it stays there. Some say forever.
The uninitiated think the house is abandoned, but a light can be seen shining from the basement windows well into the wee hours of the night. Half-formed shilouettes flicker by as old man Smeghead works on his mysterious projects. Rumor has it he’s dabbling in the black arts, but really he’s just trying to genetically engineer a woman.
He’s pretty eccentric, that Smeghead. Firmly planted in the outskirts of society. Everyone’s heard of him, but no one really knows much about him. He’s not always real up on what’s happening in town. Hell, it took him the better part of a week to notice he was getting neighbors. He doesn’t socialize much, and the town prefers it that way. On those rare occasions when he does venture out into town, the respectable folk cast dubious glances in his direction when they think he’s not looking, but he notices. Oh, yes. He notices.
And unbeknownst to the rest of the townsfolk, ol’ Smeghead has a telescope up in the tower that he uses to keep track of people’s lives. His time will come. Oh, yes. His time will come…
Smeghead lives in the old ramshackle house just outside of town with the lawn going to seed. You know - the old Smeghead place? None of the kids dare go there. If a ball flies over the tall, wrought-iron fence, it stays there. Some say forever.
The uninitiated think the house is abandoned, but a light can be seen shining from the basement windows well into the wee hours of the night. Half-formed shilouettes flicker by as old man Smeghead works on his mysterious projects. Rumor has it he’s dabbling in the black arts, but really he’s just trying to genetically engineer a woman.
He’s pretty eccentric, that Smeghead. Firmly planted in the outskirts of society. Everyone’s heard of him, but no one really knows much about him. He’s not always real up on what’s happening in town. Hell, it took him the better part of a week to notice he was getting neighbors. He doesn’t socialize much, and the town prefers it that way. On those rare occasions when he does venture out into town, the respectable folk cast dubious glances in his direction when they think he’s not looking, but he notices.
And unbeknownst to the rest of the townsfolk, ol’ Smeghead has a telescope up in the tower that he uses to keep track of people’s lives. His time will come. Oh, yes. His time will come…
Kiffa Treadlightly enters Coldfire’s bar … looking to see if her nutsy, putzy birdwatching/absinthe drinking/worm cookie eater sister is there. Whew, thank god she isn’t and the cookie plate is empty.
Kiffa Treadlightly is a Jessica Fletcher/Angela Landsbury wanna be. She writes mystery novels off the top of her head and never uses spell or grammar check. She hasn’t sold one single story, but prides herself on being available to solve any murder. Naturally, she is always on the other side of town when something happens. She has hissy-fits whenever Evilbeth or Persephone have some news before Kiffa does. She hissy-fits alot.
She lifts a glass of tequila in honor of Wally and leaves -
hightailing it to the blues bar on the other side of the tracks. Her Delroy Lindo looking husband, Mr Treadlightly, sings bass at the blues bar with the Sorely Tempted. When not traveling, Mr Treadlightly plays poker and adds his winnings to their kids’ college fund. He travels alot, she hangs out at the blues bar with her jelly jar of hooch while trying to avoid her sister’s wormy cookies.
OOOhhhhhooh, it’s sunny outside,
but it’s cold, grey and rainy inside
even since you left me …Kiffa Treadlightly is trying to come up with a good plot for her next literary disaster.
Kiffa Treadlightly enters Coldfire’s bar … looking to see if her nutsy, putzy birdwatching/absinthe drinking/worm cookie eater sister is there. Whew, thank god she isn’t and the cookie plate is empty.
Kiffa Treadlightly is a Jessica Fletcher/Angela Landsbury wanna be. She writes mystery novels off the top of her head and never uses spell or grammar check. She hasn’t sold one single story, but prides herself on being available to solve any murder. Naturally, she is always on the other side of town when something happens. She has hissy-fits whenever Evilbeth or Persephone have some news before Kiffa does. She hissy-fits alot.
She lifts a glass of tequila in honor of Wally and leaves -
hightailing it to the blues bar on the other side of the tracks. Her Delroy Lindo looking husband, Mr Treadlightly, sings bass at the blues bar with the Sorely Tempted. When not traveling, Mr Treadlightly plays poker and adds his winnings to their kids’ college fund. He travels alot, she hangs out at the blues bar with her jelly jar of hooch while trying to avoid her sister’s wormy cookies.
OOOhhhhhooh, it’s sunny outside,
but it’s cold, grey and rainy inside
even since you left me …Kiffa Treadlightly is trying to come up with a good plot for her next literary disaster.
I’ll be the town freak. Every town needs at least one. I’ll stay up til dawn bellowing oscenities at the corn! I’ll terrorize the neighborhood pets with vacuum cleaners! I’ll cover the manholes with tinfoil so the little-people can’t get out! C’mon, wouldn’t ya like to have a neighbor like me?
You know, I seem real quiet, but really I am the owner of a local bakery in disguise. I bake pie after pie, wearing nought but an apron, high boots laced with spikes, and a ruffled mask. I am also the owner of a little old man who holds a vigil outside my bakery, wearing nought but a sandwichboard which reads “This bakery is mad! MAD!” and I occasionally throw pies at him.
You know, I seem real quiet, but really I am the owner of a local bakery in disguise. I bake pie after pie, wearing nought but an apron, high boots laced with spikes, and a ruffled mask. I am also the owner of a little old man who holds a vigil outside my bakery, wearing nought but a sandwichboard which reads “This bakery is mad! MAD!” and I occasionally throw pies at him.
Hey Coldie get me a cold one. I’ve got some celebrating to do I can go back to the golf course. Someday soon they’ll let me use a club. And balls.
Sue, anyone told you you look great?
God I must need new glasses, that’s the first time I’ve said it sober. ;).
Anyhow, this is for my favorite :wally.
:raises glass in silent toast:
Keith