"Well, Toto," said the Man with the Golden Lightsaber, as they stopped
in the colonnade, where two poets had just taken shelter. "I don't
think we're in Kansas any more."
"Och," answered Grand Admiral McEwok, brushing the last of the
scrambled egg from off his epaulettes. "Disnae thot depend oan baith
yer metaphysical conception o' what the feck's going oan, no' tae
mention the hail o' existaunce onyway, an alsa yer' definition o who
we are - an where we are, an' ay, an also o' whitiver an whauriver
Kansas mich be, aye?"
So saying, he turned to the first poet, as if to ask his opinion.
"I think they might be serving coffee in the Hofgarten," T.S. Eliot
managed, affecting an air of incorrigible innocence, and turned to
Ezra Pound for help.
Pound shrugged in agreement.
"I am the best man in Kent," he offered.
***
Summary: the game's afoot!
=),
Pol'
*whacks head against the monitor...hard*
C'Pi
<vbeg!>
> C'Pi
Pol'
=)
Pol'
> Summary: the game's afoot!
>
> =),
> Pol'
Damn you, you damn stupid Ewok! Damn you to hell. I had the Sith War
in my pocket until you started it up again. So just... a great big
phooey to you! Dammit!
Just give it another day or two.
Don't worry victory will be yours.
C'Pi