In the Abysmal City, there once was a Top Hat Gentleman who could never find a girl to call his own. Long and hard he looked but the girls he found wanted to be with the girls*. This irked him and so he set forth into the wilderness. What he found there can best be described by turning to page 345 and singing the first and third verses. Stick, though, to the Norwegian translation.
“It’s so much easier to do this when you have characters talk and dialogue and such,” Cathy said. “You have the authority of progress on your side but lack the tasteful nod to tradition that the great writers always find a way to include.”
With that, she snapped her fingers and disappeared in a puff of steam.
“If… ” said Largo. “If… we just stopped for a moment to consider that this man is weighed down by circumstances…”
“Circumstantial circumstances… circumcision… circumference of the cranium… excuses, excuses, excuses. This man is troubled by a tickle in his pickle like Giorgio Smith was before him and any other name you want to make up.”
“Who talks like that?” Amber Mohanton said, looking up from her phone. She reached into her purse to pull out eyeliner, but then realized…
“The reaction. Action. Stasis. Flux. Point. Counterpoint. Plot. Subplot. Character development. Realization. Serendipity. Ironic juxtaposition. Poise. Grit. Anxiety within tranquility. Justification. Denouement. Epilogue. Voila.” John was saying.
“Then you have this – this last strand of mystery that hints at the sequel… you know, if we can get the investors on board.
“As long as there is plenty of buzz,” John finished.
“What? I’m sorry.”
“You’re lost today. What’s got you so distracted?”